SIX PHILADELPHIA BIKE MESSENGERS TRAVELED TO TORONTO FOR
A REAL WHEEL TEST. SOME SURPASSED THEIR EXPECTATIONS.

By Tanya Barrientos

Philadelphia Inquirer, August 20, 1995
 

The guy with the matching green buzz-cut and goatee made it to the finalrace, but the bald woman with goggles didn't.

Of course, a good number of the "cyborgs" - the square-jawed and chiseled-bodiedGerman cyclists who were taking the event way too seriously - were at thestarting line, too.

And so were three of the six Philadelphia bicycle messengers, who, ona whim, had decided to compete in this year's Cycle Messenger World Championshipsin Toronto.

It could have been called the Slacker Olympics, the Indy 500 of thetwo- wheeler set, or even the Lollapalooza of mountain bikes and 10-speeds.What it could never be called was a typical bike race. It was as far fromthe CoreStates road challenge as bike messengers are from executives.

A cloud of marijuana smoke lingered in the air, wafting up over theunbelievably clean streets of the warehouse district in the southwest cornerof downtown.

Hundreds of couriers lined the streets, creating a little world wherepierced body parts, psychedelic-colored hair, men in kilts, women in armyboots, and speech patterns built around profanity seemed normal.

The Philly team members were decked out in skin-tight fluorescent greenbike jerseys with the name of their company - Time Cycle - printed on thefront.

They wore Oakley sunglasses that hid, behind the muted metallic shineof mirrored lenses, any anxiety that might be lodged in their eyes.

Still, there was no mistaking that they were wrestling with wacked-outemotions that swung from dazed disbelief at making it to the finals, tosecret desires of winning it all.

What if it really happened? What if 24-year-old Kyle Knight, or his23- year-old girlfriend, Sarah Williams, or even Matt Powell, the 29-year-oldpart-time substitute teacher, actually won?

Cool. Way cool.

If one of them took the 1995 title, that would mean they had beatenabout 600 other bike couriers from 15 nations in a wild, woolly, completelydisorganized but totally sincere race of rush deliveries.

It would mean winning the coveted rainbow courier bag, which probablywasn't worth much more than the $50-per-person entry fee, except for thepatch sewn onto the front declaring the carrier THE WORLD CHAMPION of pick-upsand drop-offs.

IT'S WORTH THE EFFORT

Yes, they all agreed, it was totally worth the sweat and bruises, thegravel burns on tender skin, the punctured tires, the dehydration, andeven the killer hangovers from the dusk-to-dawn drinking parties.

"I had a list of the other prizes but I threw it away. This race isn'tabout prizes," said Buffalo Bill, a courier from London who helped organizethis year's race. He was wearing baggy shorts the color of traffic cones,a sedate T-shirt and a baseball cap with the word HERO on the brim.

"I'll tell you what this is about. It's the one time when hundreds ofmessenger braggarts are disproven, and one guy can honestly say he's thefastest," said Bill, his clipped British accent slicing the words short.

For Knight from Philly, it was about jangled nerves, and an upset stomach.

"I hate this competition stuff. I don't know why I do it, man," he saidon the evening before the final race, nervously rubbing his hand over hisvery short, red hair.

"I feel bad the entire day when I do this. I'm already so tired, reallydrained. And, oh man, those Germans, man, I think they're paid racers.Their bikes cost like three grand. They breathe down your neck, man."

The Germans. They were on everyone's minds. The Philly team had nicknamedthem "the cyborgs." No dreadlocks in their ranks. No baggy shorts or piercednipples, or wasted, bleary-eyed riders carbo-loading on beer and CheezDoodles.

Many of the couriers from Canada, Denmark, Japan, Norway, Ireland andevery American urban outpost were, at some time during the weekend, drunk,high or naked.

SERIOUS CONTESTANTS

But not the Germans. They were serious pedaling machines who had crossedthe Atlantic bent on winning. One-hundred-percent-muscle racers, keepingtheir actions and bodies pure for the challenge.

That made Knight nervous. Williams, one of only six women to make thefinals, tried to calm her boyfriend, kissing him as she spoke.

"It's OK," she said, cooing that they should all just be happy thatthey got into the finals.

She was right. Qualifying wasn't easy. The elimination rounds were all-outsprints pitting nine groups of 60-plus riders against a wicked obstaclecourse, including a gravel alley rigged up with two treacherous woodenramps pitched to flip bikes. Several package drop-off points required ridersto zoom up curved embankments, or dismount and lock their bikes, then hustleup a set of rickety steps.

The riders had to do all that while trying to beat the clock, keep packagesfrom getting bent, collect signatures for deliveries, and go around andaround a one-way loop to hit seven package drop-off points. (If they misseda point, they had to go around the entire loop to make it up.)

Powell said he never thought he'd make the finals. And, to tell thetruth, he was bummed about it.

"If I have to race I will," he said the night before the final race.He was sitting in the small dorm room that the entire team was sharingfor 16 bucks per person, per night.

"I didn't plan to qualify," said Powell. "I planned to party. Stay upall night. And now I can't."

Jeff Appeltans, the 32-year-old bike racer who owns Time Cycle, wouldhave taken Powell's place in a second. He loves racing and started TimeCycle with the notion that it would allow him to train and make money atthe same time. He anguished over his elimination from the competition'sfinal runs, and kept replaying his mistakes in his head, trying to figureout why he didn't win.

"Some guy at checkpoint two jabbed me in the knee with his pedal," Appeltanssaid, pointing to a swollen, red lump on his right leg.

The other two team members - Colin Trainer, 24, and Eric Lavalley, 25- also reviewed their preliminary runs. Trainer nursed a nasty gash onhis elbow, the result of tipping head-first over the killer ramps.

"I went over too fast. I kind of landed on my head and got clobberedreal good," he said. "There was a cop there and he said, 'Oh, boy, it'sabout time somebody wiped out good.' "

All of the members of the Philly Time Cycle team are college educated,and bristle when people call them slackers. They work hard, they say. Harderthan a lot of people sitting behind desks.

"The biggest problem isn't the traffic or the danger," said Lavalley.''It's making money. You are being paid to be a stunt man, but you're beingpaid a Burger King salary."

Knight said he wouldn't ever apologize for working as a bike courier,even if people have little respect for the spoke-and-wheel vocation.

"I just graduated (from Temple University) in May," he said. "There'snothing I could do now with my college education where I could make meas much money as I do riding my bike."

Knight smiled when asked what sort of professional doors he thoughthis bachelor's degree in American Studies might open.

"I mean, it's kind of sick, when you think about it. I can make about$100 a day as a messenger" at Time Cycle, he said.

Sure, it's dangerous work.

Said Williams: "Yeah, I've been doored." Being doored is when a parkedcar swings a door open into a cyclist's path, which can send a speedingcyclist careening into the hard pavement.

But the contestants weren't thinking about any of that once the finalrace rolled around. The weather was clear and hot, the temperature hoveringnear 90 humid degrees.

Lars Urban, one of the cyborgs, was favored to win.

"You have 20 seconds to talk to me," Urban said. "I have to check outmy bike again. Do I want to win? Ja. Am I ready? Ja."

He was wearing his lucky race jersey, a red lycra top with the lettersCCCP on the front. He said it was a gift from a road racing champion fromthe former Soviet Union.

"But you know, this is all in fun," he said, unconvincingly. "If I win,I drink beer. If I don't win, I drink beer."

Other racers were warming up by riding around the track while chain-smokingcigarettes. The Philly team was double-checking its water supply, and tryingto secure a place at the front of the pack, crowded against the startingline.

The final race was one of endurance and elimination.

There would be 56 riders at the start, and after picking up two packagesand dropping them off, the slowest 10 riders would be eliminated. The restwould continue for a second round of drop-offs and pick-ups, and then 10more would be eliminated. So it would go, until only two riders were left,and the first one over the finish line would win.

All three of the Philadelphia riders made it to the fourth round beforeelimination, but the Europeans, especially those cyborgs, dominated.

In the end, it came down to a race between two Germans - Lars Urbanfrom Bremen and Thomas Sauerwein of Karlsruhe. Urban had taken the Germancourier crown only six weeks earlier.

After an hour and 10 minutes of grueling speed and skidding stops, Urbancrossed the finish line first. He took his hands off the handlebars toraise his fists in victory.

Then he smashed into the crowd. The winner. The champ. The crumpledbike on the pavement.

The Philadelphia team was on the sidelines, already hoisting beer bottlesin celebration. It was over and now the real drinking would begin.