The International Mountain Biking Association (IMBA) acknowledges this on its website saying, “Like the sport itself, the definition of an epic will continue to evolve. One theme remains unchanged: The criterion for the epic designation is quality. Quality trails, a quality experience, something worth celebrating.”
That does not stop IMBA from designating certain trails as epic rides based on a competitive nomination process. It almost has the flavor of a baseball hall of fame induction process, with a limited number of trails achieving the designation each year. An example of a definition that I ran across online was, “It should take four to six hours, include several mechanical issues, and leave you wiped out.”
(The upper Midwest is represented on the official list of IMBA Epics by the 80-mile-long High Country Pathway through Michigan’s Pigeon River State Forest and the Levis-Trow Mound trails, which climb 3,000 feet above Neillsville, Wisconsin.)
But we all have our own take on what constitutes an epic. Does the Chequamegon 40 mountain bike race, the centerpiece of the Chequamegon Fat Tire Festival, qualify as an epic ride? Based on the guidelines above, a race is not an epic. An epic isn’t about winning; it’s about spending the bulk of your day on your bike challenging yourself and having a great time.
Well, that describes the Chequamegon 40 for me. If you saw my finish times, you would whether I had raced the event. It takes me most of the day to complete it, after which I celebrate with a beer.
It’s all Greek to me
The ancient Greeks had a different take on what’s epic. Homer’s epic poems the “Iliad” and the “Odyssey” have driven many a high school student nuts. The “Iliad” takes place while the Trojan War between the Greeks and the Trojans is in full swing. The “Iliad’s” hero, or anti-hero in some eyes, is the brooding Greek warrior with the bad heel, Achilles. The focus of the “Odyssey” shifts to the crafty Odysseus and his 10-year trek to home after the war. In the Roman version of the story, Odysseus is named Ulysses.
In many respects I view the Chequamegon 40 as my own personal odyssey. While the Greek version took a decade, my journey only “seems” to take 10 years. Odysseus and I had similarly named goals. He wanted to get back to his wife, Penelope, and his son, Telemachus. His trek took him from Troy to Ithaca. I am hoping my trek can get me from Hayward to Telemark.
One of the morals of the Greek epics was to “beware of Greeks bearing gifts.” In Hayward you need to beware of geeks wearing spandex.
Much like our Greek hero’s journey home, the race starts out relatively easy. The phalanx of cyclists is unleashed from Hayward in the largest mass start mountain bike race in North America. Over the first three miles of pavement, the riders make good time. You start thinking about the party at the end of the ride and hubris sets in. Then the gods suddenly slap you back to reality.
Odysseus’ ship got relatively close to home before being blown off course by the winds of the gods. For me, the obstacles start on Rosie’s Field. It’s there that I am reminded I never liked riding on grass. After being lured into a sense of complacency by the smooth asphalt rollout, the speed sucking grass robs me of my momentum. And near the end of Rosie’s Field is the modern equivalent of Cyclops: a huge cherry picker on which a photographer is perched snapping pictures of the racers as they pass underneath.
Odysseus got caught between a rock and a hard place when he faced the twin terrors of the Scylla monster and the Charybdis whirlpool. Odysseus has to make a difficult decision: Does he try to skirt the whirlpool that will most likely suck his ship into the abyss or run the gauntlet of the six-headed Scylla monster that will gobble a few members of his crew. I face a similar decision as I approach Martel’s Pothole. Do I ride straight through the massive puddle and risk an “endo” or do I wimp out by riding up and around it? Odysseus chose to sacrifice a few men and avoid the maelstrom. I choose to sacrifice my speed and self-respect and ride around the pothole.
A Sisyphean task
Fire Tower Hill on the Chequamegon course is the equivalent of Mount Olympus. Now, Odysseus’ path did not take him to Olympus, but the gods who intervened made their home there. The Fire Tower is about 30 miles into the 40-mile race. By the time I reach it, I’m tiring and walking my bike. As I push my way up the never ending hill, I am reminded of another Greek myth, that of Sisyphus. He offended the gods, and for his offense, he was condemned to push a boulder up a hill only to watch it roll back down the hill and have to repeat the process for eternity. My slog up the hill does not last an eternity, but it sure seems to.
Poseidon, the Greek god of the sea, was Odysseus’ chief nemesis during his travels. As I near Telemark, I am assaulted by wave after wave of rolling hills that sap my energy. What is my offense? Most likely, a lack of training. Or is my offering to Hermes, the messenger god, inadequate? As I struggle on I call out “Great father Zeus, bail me out!”
The song of the sirens is an important part of the Odyssey that does not seem to have a Chequamegon equivalent. Sure there are well-wishers along the way that keep you pushing on to the end. There is no organized group of temptresses to taunt and tantalize. Yet, the American Birkebeiner cross-country ski race, which follows much the same course as the Chequamegon 40, does have sirens atop Bitch Hill.
When I finally get to the finish at Telemark Resort, I can see that Dionysus, the Greek god of wine and revelry, has been at work. The beer is flowing, brats are grilling, and a band is playing. And unlike the free-loading suitors at Odysseus’ palace, the revelers have earned their celebration by braving 40 miles of physical and mental obstacles.
Certainly the “Iliad” and the “Odyssey” are fantastic tales. Odysseus’ wife, Penelope, stalled her free-loading suitors by weaving and subsequently unraveling a funeral shroud for her father-in-law. I’ve been known to spin a fantastic yarn and stretch the truth about my physical exploits. The hills are higher, the distance longer, yet I’m faster. My story may be more fable than fact, but the Chequamegon 40 is still a fabulous ride.
Mark Ollinger is the chief financial officer for a trade show marketing company on the northwest side of Chicago.
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