The sport of the century: Mountain Unicycling.

"With that, he rode ahead and leapt with his unicycle over two fallen logs. He rounded a curve, gaining speed, then dropped off a six-foot ledge, disappearing from view"

By Davis Gelles Via: The nytimes

MONTECITO, Calif. — In the sandstone mountains overlooking Santa Barbara, Calif., Hans Van Koppen hoisted himself onto a beat-up unicycle and gained his balance with a few tentative rolls. He wore padded gloves, and plastic arm and leg guards, and he perspired profusely from beneath a bicycle helmet.

After a few deep breaths, Van Koppen, 52, tilted his unicycle forward, began pedaling and was soon speeding down a steep hill, his arms outstretched. As the trail leveled off, Van Koppen rolled up a large rock, paused at the top, then hopped off, his landing kicking up a cloud of dust.

This was no circus, and Van Koppen is no clown. He is a mountain unicyclist, or muni rider, a member of a small but growing community that is putting an extreme twist on the most whimsical of devices.

Mountain unicycling, pioneered during the 1990s on the West Coast, has won fans around the globe. Regional muni events draw hundreds of riders to California and Utah. The North American Unicycle Championships and Convention took place this month in Rapid City, S.D. Similar events have been held in England and Australia.

“People like the novelty of it,” said Wendy Grzych, the president of the Unicycling Society of America, which has 865 members. “It’s a whole subculture, and a different makeup than your church friends or work buddies.”

On a recent Friday at the Deer Valley Resort in Park City, Utah, Karl Thompson and his father, Rolf, unicycled into a stand of white Aspen trees as perplexed tourists looked on.

Karl, 22, who won the North American championships in 2004, taught himself to ride when he was 10, after finding his father’s old unicycle in the garage. When Rolf, now 51, discovered his son’s feat, he returned to riding after a 20-year hiatus. Now Rolf Thompson organizes the Moab Muni Fest. This year’s event, the ninth, drew about 200 riders.

At Deer Valley, father and son zigged and zagged down a panoramic hiking trail, passing beneath dormant chairlifts. From a full stop, Karl hopped three feet vertically to a rock on the edge of an arroyo. Then, bouncing his unicycle as if it were a pogo stick, he leapt from rock to rock down the ravine. He occasionally lost his balance, laughing as he slammed to the ground.

Falls are an inevitable part of mountain unicycling. But riders insist the sport is no more dangerous than mountain biking, perhaps even safer.

“We fall more often than mountain bikers, but we’re going slower so it’s not as bad,” Van Koppen said. “The same cliffs are out there.”

The sport does have its hazards. Karl Thompson’s legs are bruised and scarred. He showed off shindentations (marks where rocks had punctured the front of his legs) and calf tracks (thin scars where the pedals had sliced into the backs of his calves).

Kris Holm is the muni community’s de facto ambassador to the world. He sells a line of trail-ready unicycles and has traveled the globe to ride, including pedaling along the Great Wall of China.

“My personal attraction to muni is the simplicity,” Holm wrote in an e-mail message from Vallenar, Chile. “I can ride the same trails as someone on a big, complicated mountain bike, without any of the hassles of complicated equipment.”

Today’s mountain unicycle is not the average one-wheeler. The aluminum frame is strong and light. The seat is wide and cushy; a handle in the front allows the rider to hop on and over rocks. The wheel is three inches wide, and the tire is covered with rubber knobs for better traction. At least 10 companies make mountain unicycles, which can cost more than $1,000 each.

Van Koppen, who is nicknamed the Flying Dutchman, has been a muni rider for five years. He said he discovered the sport through mountain biking.

“Unicycling is by far much more exercise,” he said. “You use every part of your body — arms, legs, stomach, back.”

Eyal Aharoni, who with Van Koppen founded the Santa Barbara Unicycle Club, said: “It’s so strenuous that you have to take breaks. It’s more like sprinting than a marathon.”

Instead of blazing down a trail at top speed, a muni rider often moves a few feet at a time, pedaling hard, rolling and hopping from rock to trail, finding the “line,” or the ideal path down the trail.

Riders will often cover the same ground repeatedly, seeking to perfect their lines.

“Muni is a sport for minimalists and problem solvers — people that don’t mind working over and over at something until they succeed,” Holm wrote. “A trail that would be boring on a bike can be totally enthralling on a muni.”

All of which makes mountain unicycling a nearly contemplative exercise.

“Mountain bikers do it for adrenaline,” Aharoni said. “This is a more focused, technical sport. The amount of concentration it takes is akin to meditation.”

In Deer Valley, Karl pedaled impatiently along a level stretch of trail, looking for something to jump off. “I get bored with this flat stuff,” he said in true muni spirit.

With that, he rode ahead and leapt with his unicycle over two fallen logs. He rounded a curve, gaining speed, then dropped off a six-foot ledge, disappearing from view.