I knew that according to the “no trail magic” rules, I would need to mark myself as “supported” upon completing The RockStar. I have many stories of people offering food, water, Gatorade, a camp spot and more on many of the bike-packing races I’ve done.
I don’t need to ask for help; Trail Magic seems to follow me. On The RockStar I scratched on Day 2, so “supported” vs “self-supported” turned out to not be an issue for me.
But on the first day, as I turned onto the Forest Service Road enroute to Flagpole Knob, a party of jeep drivers setting up camp insisted I take water and said I looked like I needed some packets of Vermont maple syrup infused with caffeine. I was spent and I did need those little packets to climb The Staircase up ahead.
Further along, up on the Knob, another group of campers came running to see if I needed anything. More offers of water and intel on a perfect tent spot in a meadow.
I’m a 5′ 1″ petite woman, and while I struggle and generally fail to even keep other riders in sight, I have every advantage when it comes to people being kind.
So compare my story to Major Nelson’s. His is a story of people being cruel and vicious. Even the subtle remarks and undertones are cruel. Even if they’re subconscious, embedded in history and “culture,” they’re still cruel.
It’s cruel that Major had to cut his race short; the danger for him too great to continue on the course. I think of all he misses on rides like these because there are people who target him.
I have no doubt that if I was a 5′ 1″ petite Black woman my story would be far different than I narrated above – certainly no freely offered assistance, perhaps rocks thrown at me too.
But instead of needing to stay silent in my tent in the dark as someone throws pebbles against it, I’m white….so I can ride all the trails and backroads, cross all the streams and see all the amazing views from up on the knobs. But not Major.
Please read Major’s story below. It begins in the 6th paragraph down, after the race organizer’s thoughts.
Bikepacking 