Ragtag Fleet
It was after sunset when Eric Schuster mounted his single-speed mountain bike and clipped a headlamp to his helmet. Standing in front of a neon-lit bar window, his friends followed suit, some strapping halogen lights to their handlebars, others clicking on narrow-beamed flashlights. As they pedaled away from the blinking strip-mall signs and toward a nearby bike trail, none of the bikers thought that such suds-soaked antics might inspire a Kansas City movement. They were seeing double at the time, trying not to run into huge trees in their path.
The trail crossed train tracks and ducked beneath graffiti-smeared bridges. Obstacles included suitcase-sized rocks, wide streams and low-hanging branches. Some guys crashed headlong into underbrush. Some guys still don’t know what they hit. When no one died, it was destined to become a ritual.
Once a week, the riders began corralling at Pat Murphy’s Bar & Grill in south Kansas City, drinking and then pedaling along local trails past midnight.
“Originally, it was a late deal because we’d eat tacos and drink beer first, and that wound up not being such a good idea. There were a lot of injuries in those days,” Schuster says. But the idea of boozing and riding bikes continued, just not in that order.
Schuster and his friends — most of whom are employees at BikeSource — began inviting friends and customers along. Then they got practical, pushing the riding time up to early evening to draw more people. When a friend posted the event on www.earthriders.com, a Kansas City bike-advocacy Web site, people started piling up.
On Tuesday nights, bikers pack the strip-mall parking lot, some with shaved legs and athletic gear, others with tattered shorts and small backpacks filled with cigarettes. Schuster, a frizzy-haired guy with a goatee, stands at the center of the lot. After mounting his single-speed, he zigzags though the two-wheeled traffic jam, offering advice on where people should ride.
“I try to make sure people know their way around,” he says. “Since it’s an urban area, it is kind of hard to follow sometimes.”
Since the group started riding two years ago, volunteers have bushwhacked more than six miles of new single-track into the hills and fields, expanding the route to cover almost twenty miles. The trails accommodate all ability levels, Schuster says, drawing traveling businessmen, corporate executives, college students and some younger kids.
Schuster still dodges trees and vaults rocks. And fellow founder Eric Carter still plays biker-turned-pseudo-skydiver, using steep ravine paths to drop between riverbed trails.
But it’s important to bike responsibly. Etiquette dictates that downhill riders yield the right-of-way to those making uphill climbs. And it is always a good idea to wear a helmet.
When the sunlight fades, riders congregate beneath the NASCAR pennants and wood-rafter ceiling of the same Irish pub that inspired Schuster’s original beer-addled foray. Here, the waitresses know Schuster and his friends on a first-name basis. The management tunes the TVs to the Tour de France, not Royals’ games. Tacos and ice-cold beers are cheap.
