@AmandaCycles

It was a season of wins, and none of them involved coming in first – or anywhere near fifth. Our beloved Fifth Street took a slightly different track as I had a rare opportunity to ride the race with a different type of goal – finishing an epic season of fun with my kids (well, the biking kids, anyway).

I think one of the absolute best parts of Fifth Street is that I get to be that mom who is in the thick of the mud with my kids, rather than sitting on the sidelines. Don’t get me wrong- all you moms and dads and everyone else cheering from the other side of the tape are rockstars and we love you for being there! You kept us going when it got hard. But I also cherish the idea of riding alongside my kids and helping them work through the mental and physical roller coaster we call cyclocross.

Every week, I prepped three bikes – brake checks, chains waxed (well, sometimes, anyway), never washed, tires aired, lights charged, helmets packed, and water bottles filled. Every week, three still-muddy bikes hoisted into the back of my big white van. Every week, second guessing my life choices about dragging all of these bikes and all of these kids out into the cold and the dark.

Together, we unloaded bikes and suited up, piling on layers for cold nights and turning on the lights to show the way.

Together, we rode the closed course, away from traffic, surrounded by racers and fans who cheered us on at every switchback and bump. We navigated switchbacks, flew over whoops, glided down hills, trudged back up, dragged our bikes around the trees, and fell into ruts. Together, we dodged raindrops, slipped and slid into mud puddles, shivered, and giggled, struggled and clambered our way to the finish line.

Together, we quickly got dropped from the pack but laughed our way around the course, telling dumb jokes and singing made-up songs about our speed and the ducks calling to us from the water. There was talk of geese and deer, and farts, and shifting gears, Ninja Turtles, hopes and cheeseburgers, and Halloween candies and mud.

Together, we pulled pedals out of the tape and hoisted bikes up the deep and slippery steps, sliding out around turns, and dragging our wheels over the top of barriers that felt way too tall for our shortness. We learned fast what situational awareness is, as we dodged out of the way of the fast folks, trying not to hamper their race.

Together, we learned how to keep going when it’s hard, how to pedal a few more feet when we are tired, to roll with the ups and the downs, and when it's ok to quit.

We practiced our bike skills, learned to carry more speed through the whoops, and leveraged momentum to get back up the hill. Sometimes we made it. And sometimes, we fell. We learned to get back up no matter what.

We learned the kindness of fellow riders who happily sacrificed their race goals to pull us out of the mud or put a chain back on when ours fell off. We depended on the multi-tools of others to tighten our thru-axles and raise our seat posts. We tried not to blind them with the lumens on our bars.

We enjoyed the stillness of the night, the cheering of the crowd, the handups, the laughter, and the camaraderie. We vibed to the tunes, and we got some epic pictures to savor our memories. We hugged each other and our friends, passing along high-fives, fist bumps, and encouragements.

We fought through frustration and sat in our big feelings. We reveled and triumphed and whooped and laughed and conquered some fears along the way.

Around us, racers raced their very best, smoothly passing by, offering cheers and compliments when they could barely breathe, sweat glinting in the glare of our headlights. The community feeling is unrivaled. When Fifth Street says any bike, any rider, any ability – they mean it! You can race alongside four-year-olds and elites on the same night, with the more experienced riders carefully watching over the lesser, providing light-hearted instruction as they glide by to help everyone ride smoothly and safely.

We didn’t make it to the end of the final celebration; the exhaustion took over, and we wiggled our way to the exit. Loaded up our bikes and turned on our lights for one last bittersweet ride. We sluggishly made our way up the hill from the start line, our bellies weighing us down, full from the Tricycle truck, our cadences slow, the air crisp, the darkness deepening the hush of the air, settling around us like a fuzzy scarf. We reminisced over the good times, the hard times, and the amazing season full of wins.

Up the hill past the start finish. One more time past the registration area, the wall, the portapotties. Over the gravel and the speed bumps, and back to the van. For one last time. Congrats to all of the winners this year, the first places, the fifth places, the fifty-fifth place, too. Even more, congrats to everyone who accomplished a win that had nothing to do with your racing position. And my undying thankyou to everyone who made the season a success – the volunteers, the staff, the racers, the hecklers, the cheerers, the bugler, the hot-dog slingers, the foodmakers, the sponsors, the handuppers, and The Gabe Lloyd. Season XX was nothing less than a win.

Until next year, Fifth Street. Until next year.