Bike Taxi to the Worlds

What a whirlwind weekend I just had! The Cycle Messenger World Championships, an epic event that leaves a trail of stories year long, were held this year in Toronto; a city that never disappoints its visitors, particularly in the summer. It was a busy few days for sure. While I originally had the intention of covering the event for One Less Car, I also planned on racing, visiting old bike and circus friends, and cheering on the Chicago Cuttin’ Crew and all my hometown’s polo players. Needless to say, when the press passes for the event turned up missing during registration, I was more than a little relieved. With my registration wristband, the attention span of a hyper kitten, and a fairly simple camera, I kept my eyes as open as I could amid all the excitement.
My experience at the Worlds was surely a little different than most. I arrived with no bicycle and, although I had promise of a track bike to ride on the mainland, planned to ride nothing but a bike rickshaw on the island. I had just started working for an “urban chariot” company on the west coast, and the owner had rocked a pedicab at the Worlds several times, dominating a couple of the cargo races. Having been a pedicabber myself for three years, I planned to represent as best I could. Having been a performer for even longer, I hoped to find the most ridiculous ride I could; lucky for me I have awesome friends in Toronto.
Let’s start with the trip across the border. I had planned to ride with some of the polo players in a station wagon pulling a trailer, caravanning behind the Cuttin’ Cruiser - the CCC’s newest member, a giant white schoolbus full of couches. The Cuttin’ Crew has been making major waves in the windy city since its formation this past winter, a combination of legacy, solid racers, and a devil-may-care attitude bringing it quickly to the forefront of online buzz. Well, I must say it didn’t take long on the road before I was lured over to their bus by fun and whiskey and beer. A rotation ensued between the cigarette friendly car and the booze friendly bus. I am more booze friendly than cigarette friendly, and there are dark stains on my powder blue TAXI shirt that I still don’t understand. Eventually, this pedicabber, a photographer, couriers, racers, and polo players all succumbed to the combination of booze and a steadily rocking bus and fell asleep, curled up either on a couch or on a busmate or simply on their face under a table. Rooster, infallible helmsman of the Cuttin’ Cruiser, kept driving all night. Arguably among the surest things the team had to offer to the race, he was also the bus driver. Behind the bus, polo player Alexis also held it down the whole twelve hours, and safely transported who knows how many thousands of dollars worth of bikes. Before departing, we had joked about taking the station wagon straight to the coast and opening a bike shop. Finally, we all arrived at the border after sunrise, a bus smelling of whiskey with loose chairs for seats, a large trailer full of who-knows-what, and a lot of deviant-looking characters. Had any of us ever been to prison? No? Welcome to Canada! That sure was easy.
The brewery could not have been easier to find, sitting right under the CN Tower., Toronto’s answer to the Space Needle. We were some of the first to arrive, but that allowed plenty of time for meeting other earlycomers and avoiding longer lines for registration. The organizers had a lot of sense when it came to anticipating the lines, giving everyone who came through the door two free beer tickets. It was a slow process, but everyone was very friendly despite the obvious lack of sleep leading up to such an event. It was good to finally put faces to names and phone voices.
I felt a bit out of sorts still from being on a bus for so long, but I found some friendly Swiss couriers to practice my French on. It took me a little while to tear myself away from the womb of registration, but eventually I realized that I still knew that part of Toronto by bike like the back of my hand, and off I went. I missed the barbeque at a local bike shop, but I fell in with my friend who makes Black Star Bags in Portland and followed along past the early stages of Navid’s party (where they were setting up the stage for the next two nights of goldsprints) and on to the bike polo pickup games. Playing polo on a hockey rink - by the way - how Canadian can you get?
Eventually, I met up with my friend Shamez, keeper of all things pedicab in Toronto. He and I met at his restaurant and plotted our plans for getting the pedicabs to the island the next day, the various bikes and cargo we would have to pick up and who would be helping us get it there. I had been psyched about riding these bikes ever since I had asked to borrow one many weeks before, and seeing them firsthand only heightened this feeling.
Friday night of course brought a massive party; you could see people milling about aimlessly the whole day in anticipation of the revelry we all surely deserved for traveling so far. Unfortunately, Friday night also brought a lot of rain. The official pre-party eventually gave way to the rager at Navid’s, which persisted under tarps despite the rain and turned the packed porch into a writhing dance party.

The awards ceremony, while displaced to a funky dive instead of the island and predictably tardy, was a good time. I knew I had been second place female in the cargo race, but I didn’t expect the sweet prize assortment I won. Getting my name called felt fantastic, and so did hearing my bike rickshaw called “the coolest bike in the race.” In the end, all the prize winners were brought back on stage for medals. I whispered loudly to one of the organizers, “Don’t forget to tell them about the NACCCs in Chicago this August!” One of the Europeans chimed in about another event coming up on the other side of the pond.
Chicago’s outcome in the race was definitely a surprise to me. Only a handful of the Cuttin’ Crew had made it to the finals, and none had placed high enough to win prizes. I had expected at least one of the guys to come out on top. Even our polo teams didn’t get prizes. I must admit that I do smile a little bit at knowing that the only prizes brought back to Chicago were by women, myself for second place female in cargo and Brynn for second place female in sprints. While I will be the first to admit that the women’s categories are almost always below capacity at competitions, giving all of us fewer people to beat, it’s still a good feeling when we win. The only other prize taken back to Chicago elicits an even wider grin; Al won a sweet custom bag for “best trick”... well, talked it out of the organizers when they were throwing bags to the crowd during the awards ceremony. He insisted that breaking some dude’s collarbone during a collision in the qualifiers deserved a prize… runner-up at least.

Toronto was an incredible place to hold a bike event. It had already become one of my favourite cities last summer when I was there for the Fringe Festival, and only grew dearer to my heart on this visit. Of course, it helped to be visiting again during a special event, with other visitors from all over the world with whom I could explore the city. Not only did the CMWC fall during the city-sanctioned Bike Month, but a film crew was following the messenger community around for a program about tribes to be aired on cable. Tribes, indeed. The generally positive energy all weekend, the generosity of the local cyclists to these friends they had never met before, the range of spectators from retired messengers to little kids, it all reminded me what a special community we all belong to. Not to get all sentimental, but I think a lot of us came out of the weekend with a renewed sense of optimism about the bike community, messengers and otherwise.
The extra bit of chaos that the rain had added to the event made up for the conveniently open roads on the island. The lack of traffic was certainly different from the normal conditions of an alley cat race. Strangely, this left us cyclists with only each other to get in the way. I watched during the qualifiers as a group of confused tourists in a quadracycle were ushered off of the bike path by frantic spectators. I myself was surely guilty of being in the way a few times, my bike being rather large and slower than most, my apologies. It was strange how the lack of cars suddenly turned non-racing cyclists into the traffic menace.
At the end of the weekend, I was amazed to learn that many people were unaware of the fact that four or five hundred more cyclists had converged on their city. I suppose keeping the event on the island made it a bit less obvious. The police had definitely taken note of the abundance of cavalier cyclists, and the local cyclists were feeling the backlash on Monday in the form of 80 to 180 dollar tickets for running red lights. Apparently, the Toronto police like to run blitzes like this every so often, particularly during bike month.
The impact of the cyclists could also be felt in the overwhelmed bike shops. My friend Shannen, who was swamped even before the international couriers started pouring in, finally had to institute a “courier bikes only” rule for wrenching. Even two days after the event had ended, I saw a chalk sign on a local bike shop that read “Repair Shop Full.” No doubt the bike polo courts had sent quite a few bikes into disrepair. I am sure some of the commuters were none too pleased with this aftereffect of the weekend, but hopefully they also understood the difference between a bike you ride to your job and a bike that IS your job.
The days following the event were another fun part of the whole experience. Both the official and unofficial guides listed events extending beyond the weekend. Beyond this, it was almost comical how frequently I ran into people from the CMWC while lounging around in Kensington, mostly couriers from Europe and Australia. Out on the streets, I heard rumor of a legion of hung-over zombie messengers riding wide eyed with their radios turned to full volume. Every after party had been good fun, and as the week went on, there was more time and space for talking to one another. Much ground work had been laid at the official planning meetings, but these informal moments of getting to know each other are useful as well.
Overall, I had a fantastic time in Toronto. There was something strikingly familiar, comforting even, about the CMWC and its satellite events. I came expecting something much more slick and cutthroat, for some reason, but came out with the realization that these events don’t change much across borders or categories; it’s still just a group of determined cyclists tied by a common love and an addictive occupation.
Next year: Tokyo.

-Product Reviews from the Cycle Messenger World Championships

I came back from the CMWC in Toronto having given out dozens of free stickers and a few hats, but with a whole lot of swag to show for it. Fortunately, this meant I had some bribe leverage, and I got Cole to come down to the bus station and meet me when I got in, unloading some of my bags on his lucky ass. I passed on to him a big Girl Bike Dog bag they had loaned me to review, a clever little PAC accessory bag I had traded for one of the new mystery-brim One Less Car hats, and another homemade hat I had traded for. I had plenty to review myself, and enough to carry back home as it was.
I hadn’t even approached Reload or Push the Envelope for reviews, knowing that we already had covered them. In fact, I was wearing my Push bag at the competition and it was the very same woman (the owner) who had customized it for me last summer that beat me out in the cargo race! Ah, the circumstantial irony is dense in small scenes.
Opening the bag I won in the cargo race (a sweet Cocotte courier bag from Montreal) to show Cole, I then had a shoulder bag from GirlBikeDog, a phone holster and a skirt and a pair of socks from Under the Weather, a beer cozy from Dank Bags (shit, what, I thought that guy was super elusive?!), and a belt pack and a u-lock holster from Fabric Horse - many of which I needed to review once I got the two reviews out that I’ve been sitting on since before the CMWC. All this was in my new bag when I came back, plus my existing bags (see previous reviews... I was even using one of the hip sacks to hold my toiletries), plus other prizes including a chain lock, plus the inane number of t-shirts and energy bar samples one always comes away from a race with, which all made for quite a load. Not that I’m complaining at all.
I must say that I was impressed with the number of female-run bag companies represented at the CMWC. I was talking to the ladies who own Push the Envelope and Under the Weather at one of the after parties, while they were inspecting the waterproof lining of the bag I had won, and asked if EVERY courier bag company in Canada was woman-owned. They agreed that it seems so, although had heard rumors that Cocotte was now run by a man instead. The bag companies that had come up from Philly were likewise woman run or owned or at least heavily staffed by them. Very interesting. Commencing flurry of reviews in three, two...go!

those pesky streetcar tracks!

self-proclaimed best trick...

top male award!

toronto from the ferry...