Here’s a bold statement: most bike races, as we know them, are just a tad absurd—and I’m here to prove it. But here’s where it gets controversial: there are only two truly ‘real’ bike races, and everything else? Well, let’s just say it’s a creative stretch. A few weeks ago, the Everesting World Championships took place on Mount Etna, where riders climbed and descended a hill repeatedly until they accumulated an altitude gain equivalent to Mount Everest’s 8,848.86 meters. Yes, you read that right. The winners? Canadian Jack Burke in the men’s category and Britain’s Illi Gardner in the women’s, clocking in at seven and a half and eight and a half hours, respectively. And this is the part most people miss: while their achievement is undeniably impressive, it’s also, let’s be honest, a bit bizarre. I mean, who decides this is a good idea? (No offense, Jack and Illi—you’re legends.)
This got me thinking: if Everesting is fair game, why not ‘Etna-ing’ on Surrey’s Box Hill, or ‘Box Hilling’ on a motorway bridge? Heck, why not race around the world by circling two roundabouts in Milton Keynes? But here’s the kicker: are these ideas any sillier than the races we already have? When you break it down, there are only two ‘natural’ bike races: the scratch race (everyone starts together, first across the line wins) and the time trial (fastest time wins). That’s it. Everything else? Arguably just creative additions to the sport.
Take other sports, for example. Swimming has one sensible stroke and three that feel like a sack race. Cycling could’ve gone down a similar path—riding backward, anyone?—but we didn’t. Athletics isn’t much better, with its random object throws and jumps. Let’s be real, the triple jump is the oddest Olympic event, and the keirin isn’t far behind. Even road races are peculiar. Flat races often revolve around semi-staged breakaways, and the King of the Mountains jersey? It rarely goes to the actual best climber. Here’s a thought: maybe we took a wrong turn as a sport. Imagine if the first road race in 1869, which included unicycles and tricycles, had set a different precedent. Elite men’s road tricycle racing? Unicycle Everesting? Now that’s a missed opportunity.
Speaking of innovation, let’s talk tubercles. Derived from the Latin for ‘small lump,’ these knobbly features, inspired by nature (think humpback whale fins), are designed to reduce drag by creating vortices. Bike designers love them—partly because they’re functional, partly because they’re just cool. You’ll find them on forks, seat posts, and even wheel rims. Sure, their effectiveness is hard to measure without a wind tunnel, but they look slick, and let’s be honest, a bumpy bike is easier to store than a whale.
Now, onto acts of cycling stupidity. Here’s a story that’ll make you cringe: a rider forgot his pedal tools on holiday. After days without riding, a friend suggested screwing the pedals in by hand and letting the precession effect tighten them while riding. It worked—until he had to remove them again to pack his bike. Genius? Or disaster waiting to happen? You decide.
So, here’s my question to you: Are most bike races truly as sensible as we think, or are we just used to their quirks? And while we’re at it, who’s up for a tricycle Everesting challenge? Let’s debate in the comments—I’m all ears.
