The Radavist copy editor and Northern California correspondent Nicholas Haig-Arack spent a weekend at the Cruiser Classic, a long-running grassroots gathering of mountain bike enthusiasts in the Tahoe National Forest near Nevada City. Read on for a first-person retelling of the organized chaos of the 2024 Cruiser Classic…

At some point in the middle of the day, I am sitting on the dry, dusty, pine needle-strewn forest floor, watching people stunt old cruisers and klunkers across a skinny bridge traversing a small gully. A hundred people gather around the spectacle, exclaiming in unison when a rider successfully navigates across the thin, wood-slatted crossing.

As for me, the mushrooms are kicking in and I am too high to hang. I recline on the prickly ground and stare up at the sunlight filtering through the spiderwebs and late-summer foliage above my head. I take a few deep breaths. I listen to the joyous sounds of the crowd.

This is my second year at the Cruiser Classic. I have been eagerly looking forward to attending this event for almost 365 days. There’s something uniquely magical about it, something impossible to describe but composed of all of the things I like about bike gathering: non-competitive riding, camping in the woods with friends, a big finish at a lake. I love any ride that ends with my body in a body of water.

The Good Times Crew, headed by Allan Cooke and David Smith, produces the Cruiser Classic. They keep it loose – it’s essentially a 16-mile group ride on green trails winding from our campsite to a recreational lake near Nevada City. It’s also more than a ride; peppered throughout those 16 miles are organized mini-events, with lots of stopping to session jumps, or shoot slingshots, or play foot-down, or plunge down the g-out known as the Widowmaker. Lots of options to cheer others on, or to be cheered on. Each mini-event becomes a site for all riders to become both participants and spectators. It feels non-hierarchical, very much the opposite of almost every race I’ve attended. The only competition I engage in during the Cruiser Classic is a race to the deli so I can be the first to order a turkey sandwich.

I come down from my high as we’re eating lunch. I am fed and I’m ready to shred. The singletrack from the deli to the lake is a rollercoaster. I jump in behind Jay Barre, dancing nimbly on his new LaMarche. I follow Adam Sklar’s wheel as he deftly maneuvers his coaster-brake klunker through the jumps and rollers. Finally, we end up at the lake. Everyone strips down to the bare essentials and wades into the cool water. We frolic. It’s like summer camp for a bunch of grown-up bike dork dirtbags.

After a few hours of soaking in the lake and screwing around in the parking lot, the rental vehicle scoops us up and we’re shuttled back to camp. Have you ever ridden in the back of a box truck with thirty humans inside? It’s hot and smelly, but it’s also exuberant. We trauma-bond inside the sweltering tin can as it careens up the road.

Back at camp, the roll-up door rises to release us into the cool night air. We all tumble out of the truck and dinner is served. A raffle is held as we gobble down bowls full of vegan risotto and kale salad. We watch a screening of Camera Corner. My belly is full and my heart is full too. I retreat back to my sleeping pad under the trees and I gaze up at the rising moon. Before I know it, am fast asleep.

For more information on the history of the Cruiser Classic, check out David Smith’s recap of the 2019 gathering. Registration is permanently capped at 100 and it tends to sell out almost immediately. To find out more, follow the Good Times Crew.