Riding a single speed mountain bike will get you noticed. Line up on the start line of your local XC race, show up at a club ride, or churn up a muddy incline pushing cadence a quarter of your heart rate and someone will inevitably comment "wow... single speed? Brave!" Followed by (once you've calmed down, and caught your breath) the inevitable question: "So, why do you ride single speed?"
And you better have an answer - you're going to get asked this one a lot!
Though the answer is far from a simple one, because on the face of it - single speeding makes no sense. The invention of derailleur gears is widely regarded as one of the great leaps forward in bicycle technology in the 20th century, and the concession of the French to allow people to race using them an even bigger achievement (just look at the debate raging at the moment over aerodynamics to see how well the UCI respond to technology in bike racing). So why on earth would we throw away the brainwork and political wrangling of so many people? Gears make cycling easier, right?
Well, yes. Sort of.
The most obvious (and most commonly cited) reason for going solo is the weight saving. The rear cassette is a surprisingly hefty chunk of metal, as well as the gear shifting mechanisms, cables, casings and so on that you're no longer going to need. When I converted my 2008 Focus Fat Boy to single speed I took nearly a kilogram out of the weight of the bike - which was instantly noticeable climbing hills. (Though be ready, nearly all this weight is taken off the back of the bike which will move the centre of gravity forward - making the handling livelier).
The second most common reason is simplicity. With no rear mech to catch on rocks, no cables to clog with muck, and no twisting of the chain through shifting, a single speed mountain bike can go surprisingly long times between services. And you'll never be stuck in the middle of a field staring in consternation at your newly torn off derailleur, faced with the growing realisation that you're walking home.
Cost comes in to the equation too. As a student I can't really afford to maintain an all singing, all dancing race-ready superbike. But make it single speed, and there's only so much bike bling you can actually splash out on. Going back to converting my Fat Boy, what I in effect did was to take a very mediocre mountain bike, and by taking a few things off actually created a really quite good single speed mountain bike. Which is now very cheap to both ride and race (go ahead an compare the cost of replacing a cassette with replacing a single sprocket).
Beyond these very tangible reasons we enter the realm of personal experience. I've found that riding single speed has made me faster. It is going to hurt to climb hills, and you almost never find yourself in the right gear, which means there's a minimum speed to ride up every incline below which you can't physically rotate your legs (think involuntary power intervals). And there's no way you can wuss out and shift down towards the tail end of a race. You picked your gear before you started - you're now stuck with it! Which brings me to a slightly embarrassing point - that of vanity. Single speeding is harder and more painful than being able to shift gears, which does add to the smugness when you beat someone up a hill. And adds to the respect people will offer you at the top of said hill (in theory at least). But on that one day, when the incline was perfect and you're moving faster than your geared riding friends - it's a feeling difficult to match. (It's called a "scalp," ask the guys over at Silly Commuter Racing www.itsnotarace.org).
People also talk about "being more in contact with the trails," which strikes me as a little bit too mystic for my liking. Admittedly, you can't hide behind technology to conquer the hill, but if that's your train of thought, then why don't you buy yourself a pair of running shoes? However, it works for some people, so we'll leave them be.
Finally, a word should be said about the single speeding community. Choosing one gear (at least for me) was also influenced by choosing the sort of people to hang out with. We know it hurts, we know it's a bit daft, and we know we're unlikely to win large numbers of races like this - but we don't mind, and in many ways, revel in it. What other sport has world championships open to all comers, where the first prize is a compulsory tattoo? (The rules are, if you don't want the tattoo, then don't win). Where else would you find an almost obligatory "beer shortcut" in championship races? (Down a pint, and miss out a couple of miles of your next lap as a reward). We're a great bunch of friendly, muddy people, and would love you to come join us.
