Cycling Ink

In August, I read an article by Bike Snob NYC in Outside Magazine titled The Wildest Mountain-Bike Race on Earth which possessed the tag line, "Don't win if you don't want the tattoo."  Of course he was describing the Single Speed World Championships (SSWC).  Part masquerade, part drunk-fest, part serious mountain bike race, every year the winner of the event is awarded with not a jersey or trophy, but a mandatory tattoo.  While perusing cyclingnews.com, I was reminded of BSNYC's article when I saw a photo of this year's women's winner, Heather Irmiger, receiving her award last weekend in Durango.

There's something about injecting ink under the skin that raises, if not one's cycling prowess, certainly one's dedication, to a higher level.  Or at least it demonstrates that along with quad cramps, razor burn and searing taint pain, the average cyclist has a strange relationship with pain.  Obviously, some choose to take this to an intense level, like profession cyclist David Clinger.

In his defense, Clinger admits to being pretty high on cocaine when he stepped into the parlor and attempted to channel a Maori chief through his tattoos.  He's subsequently undergoing removal procedures.

In 2006, racer Josh Horowitz chronicled his own inking by fellow racer and 2006 Elite National Crit Champion, Kayle LeoGrande.  Josh had a hebrew passage scrawled around his right arm which reads "This too shall pass."  Does anyone else smell the faint aroma of irony?

Following this lead, one Portland native has decided to turn his body into a travelogue of chainring tattoos, acquiring a unique addition to mark each new place he visits.  Remarkable by midwestern standards, I'm guessing inked chainrings all over your body is standard fare for Portland?

I'm not sure, but I think this guy might also have a coincidental case of ringworm causing an usual non-toothed red chainring close to his armpit.

Of course, this wouldn't be a Missouri Cycling blog if I didn't post at least one Missouri cycling tattoo.  This beauty is owned by one Paul Denney of Queen City Cycles in Springfield, MO.

This is definitely my favorite, though.  Nothing says "I'm hardcore" like having multiple inked cyclists lifting their carbon steeds to the gods while emerging from your ass crack.

At least Clinger can blame his masterpiece on drugs.

Pedal on.