For two weeks, Bemidji became the world unicycle capital

The unusual sight of a giant lumberjack and his massive blue ox on the shores of Lake Bemidji got even more unusual earlier this month when Paul and Babe were swarmed by hundreds of people on unicycles.

That’s what happens when a small Minnesota town becomes the world capital of one-wheeled pedaling for nearly two weeks.

“I had to look [Bemidji] up on a map,” said Cris Bailiff. Still, the 56-year-old came all the way from Sydney, Australia, to attend Unicon 21.

Part convention, part world championships for unicycling, the event features athletic competitions typically done on two feet. That includes unicycle basketball, unicycle dodgeball, even unicycle sumo.

This year’s event, which wrapped up Friday, included track events, like 100- and 400-meter dashes on the track at Bemidji High School, high jumps and long jumps, and long-distance races, including a 34-mile ultramarathon involving two laps around the lake.

Unicons have been held every two years for the past four decades, mostly in places like Tokyo, Montreal and Beijing. Minneapolis hosted in 1994 and the event was last held in the United States near Seattle in 2002.

How did Unicon land in Bemidji?

“I think it’s absolutely crazy and unfathomable that they chose Bemidji of all places to go to,” said skateboarder Robert Thunder, an 18-year-old Bemidji resident, as he watched a one-wheeled parade of unicyclists from 28 countries, including Denmark, South Korea, India and Germany, going through town.

The Swiss also came, bringing a national team favored to win the title in unicycle hockey. So did the Japanese, a world power in unicycle freestyle.

But to Rachel Sindelar, communications director for Unicon 21, Bemidji made perfect sense. Organizers wanted a town where the impact of about 1,000 unicyclists from around the world would be more noticeable and get more support from the community.

A northern location was also seen as advantage to avoid excessive heat when holding athletic competitions in the middle of summer. Less expensive food and lodging costs were also a plus. (Participants had the option of dormitory housing and meal plans at Bemidji State University.)

And it didn’t hurt that Minnesota has an unicycling community, including the Twin Cities Unicycle Club, which is full of veteran competitors from past Unicons.

Bailiff, who has attended six previous Unicons, was an instant convert. “It’s fantastic in a small town. The atmosphere is better in a small town.”

For their part, locals seemed pleased to play host to the 13-day event.

“It’s great for business,” said Madisanne Dahl, a waiter at Bar 209, a downtown Bemidji restaurant. Dahl said she was hoping to see a late-night unicycle event called Flaming Puck Hockey.

Some of the one-wheeled competitions borrow from bicycling, like mountain biking, cyclocross and trials riding. Some involve performing stunts over obstacles similar to skateboarding. Freestyle competitions resembled figure skating, with elaborately costumed individuals, pairs and groups performing artistic and athletic routines set to music.

But other competitions are likely unique to unicycling: Races where you pedal only with one foot; “wheel walk” races where your feet push the wheel without touching the pedals; competitions to see who can balance on one spot the longest.

And then there was the attempt to break the Guinness World Record for “tallest rideable unicycle.”Jamey Mossengren attempted to ride a 44-foot-tall unicycle to eclipse the current record of 31-feet, 10-inches.

Mossengren, who calls himself the Unicycling Unicorn, grew up in Ham Lake, but currently lives in his van. That’s because he travels around the country as a unicycle performer. Mossengren, 44, went to college to get a mechanical engineering degree, but hated working in an office. He started street performing on his unicycle, which he learned to ride as kid. Eventually he quit his job so he could perform full-time at festivals, corporate functions and trade shows.

“Unicycling is my life. It’s my passion. It’s my hobby. It’s my career,” Mossengren said.

At Unicon, a boom lift hoisted Mossengren to the ceiling of the arena at the Sanford Center, where the Bemidji State hockey teams play. Then the lift pulled upright a spindly, 94-pound unicycle that looked more like a radio antenna than anything anybody could ride.

In two attempts at the Unicon opening ceremony, Mossengren wasn’t able to ride the required distance of 8.5 meters before slowly falling over. (A safety harness prevented him from crashing to the ground.) But he said he’d gone the record-setting distance earlier in the day during a practice run. He hopes Guinness will give him the record after he submits video from a crew making a documentary on him.

No matter where they’re from, every unicyclist knows they’re doing something out of the mainstream, that the general public considers them a bit odd, that they’re likely to hear “Hey, where’s your other wheel?” when riding on a bike trail.

“A lot of cars will honk and you never know if it’s an angry ‘Get off the road!’ honk or a ‘You’re awesome!’ honk,” said Kim Donohoo, a 44-year-old St. Paul unicyclist.

“There’s perfectly normal people, but there’s also unique personalities. I consider myself fairly normal,” said Ryan Wood, a 42-year-old airline pilot from Arden Hills, who has won national and international championships in unicycle racing and freestyle.

Lynn Lunger, a 58-year-old Washington, D.C.-area resident said she came to Unicon to try to relearn the sport she last did as a kid about 42 years ago. Lunger said riding a unicycle is not like learning to how to ride a bike. You can’t pick it back up right away.

“I’m basically a beginner again,” she said.

Donohoo has been riding since she was about 14, with “breaks for college and kids. The doctors don’t advise riding a unicycle at nine months pregnant,” she said.

She’s ridden thousands of miles, including touring the Alps on one wheel. Her kids and siblings also ride. At Unicon, she won her age group in the 800-meter race.

Meanwhile, in the gym, freestyle competitors were spinning, jumping (and sometimes falling) to music while dressed in sequins, ball gowns, goth leather jackets or costumed as a mermaid, a genie, Mary Poppins or a nun.

Similar to events at the Olympics, a table of judges rated their performances, while fans in the stands chanted and waved national flags.

“It’s a wacko sport,” said Bailiff, who took up unicycling when he joined the circus club in university. “It is unusual everywhere. Even in Germany, where there’s thousands of riders. It’s still niche.”