Playing Through

Photo courtesy of Gideon Tsang

There were some cold and cruddy nights back in January, when only two or three people turned out for Brian Davies' urban cyclo-cross races. That's unfortunate, because cold and cruddy January nights are ideal for cyclo-cross, a hybrid of mountain biking and road racing that involves getting on and off the bike as the cyclist navigates various types of terrain.

"No matter how shitty-ass the conditions, the guys are stoked," Davies says. Actually, that's one of the challenges Davies faces in trying to get the cyclo-cross scene going in Austin: Unlike France and Belgium, where the sport got started more than a hundred years ago, or Portland, Ore., which hosts the biggest events in the United States, Austin is seriously lacking in shitty-ass weather (the insufferable heat of summer is not the right kind of shitty). But what the city lacks in crap weather, Davies makes up for in enthusiasm for all things cycling. As he plans on spending the rest of his life having something to do with cycling – racing, staging races, working in bike shops, or just evangelizing on the beauty of the bike – it is fitting that he bears such an uncanny resemblance to Lance Armstrong.

Of the Chronicle's attentions, Davies was less chary than some of the participants in a recent race he'd called. Most wouldn't give me their full names or tell me the route they'd be taking. "It's not an alley cat," said James, referring to the illegal races through city traffic, "but I don't think the police or the Parks Department would think it's cool, our doing this without permits, in the dark. I mean, we're going as fast as we can, and you can still bite it big time."

Davies takes their point. "If you look at these guys" – only a few wore spandex (thank God); the others wore jeans, sneakers, and sandals – "I guess you could say we're renegading it. But I try not to make it too illegal. I figure if we do it after dark, we don't have to worry about running over somebody's baby."

Davies' only agenda is to keep it chill. If he feels like calling a race, he calls one. If he doesn't, he doesn't. Putting in for expensive permits would be way too much hassle for what he has in mind. Instead of charging pricey entry fees, he collects $5 per rider and gives all of that right back in prize money. If somebody inadvertently takes a short cut, he'll still likely get a prize. At the very least, he gets a spoke card, which, for many riders, is the only prize that matters.

"The one thing I don't want is for it to be a snob fest," he says. "Let's be realistic. It's just a bunch of knuckleheads riding bikes in the middle of the night. Anyone who takes this seriously should find another race, 'cause they'll probably be racing a drunk guy on a cruiser."

Please write Mr. Hackett at playingthrough@austinchronicle.com.