In April 1988, for one of my first articles as a journalist, I was doing a handicap of that summer's Race Across America for the regional, now-defunct California Bicyclist magazine. None of the contenders I interviewed was a household name. Everyone pretty much said the same thing: "I've been training 400 to 700 miles a week, there's lots of competition this year, and I'm going out to win." No one's words or personality really stood out.

Except for one guy: Chris Kostman, a U.C. Berkeley junior who'd finished the race the year before as a 20-year-old, making him (then) the youngest-ever finisher and a celebrity in his hometown of Glendora. His personality was way beyond confident. Kostman said his unusual training method, which entailed riding a ridiculously low number of miles per week compared to everyone else, plus his unusual diet, composed of substances apparently only known to NASA astronauts, plus his super-secret sleeping method, known only to Himalayan monks, would make him the uncontested star of the 1988 race. His ride would not only obliterate the field, but so revolutionize RAAM and ultra-endurance cycling in general that people would be writing about it for years, studying it as if it were a guide not just to cycling, but to a new level of human consciousness.

When I put the phone down after the interview was over, I said to myself, "Well, that young guy has to be the most arrogant, self-admiring, self-congratulatory narcissist I think I've ever met." Then I thought, "He's kind of cool."

After all, nothing Kostman said was offensive, really. He was pretty interesting and actually quite respectful of the other riders. He just thought that he was really good and really smart – and he had the resume to back it up. Who doesn't want that kind of self-image?

Four years later, while I was editing the national, now-defunct Bicycle Guide magazine, (see a pattern here?) Kostman called me up to pitch a story idea. When I mentioned that I was writing a big 16-page review and feature article about the explosion of affordable front-suspension mountain bikes – a big deal in 1992 – he scoffed.

“Mountain bikes are the most over-hyped, overbuilt piece of equipment ever created,” he said. “I dust every mountain biker I see on the trails, and I ride a road bike!”

There it was again, the arrogance – the weirdly intriguing, over-the-top, strangely compelling arrogance. But again, he was more interesting than offensive, and could always back it up. Although he hadn't finished the 1988 RAAM due to a pinched nerve in his neck, the next year he set the world's first 24-hour mountain-biking record of 242 miles. And, as proof of his off-road prowess, he came down to L.A. a couple days later and took me out on the trails in the Santa Monica Mountains. He rode a Bridgestone XO-1 road bike with odd, S-shaped “mustache” handlebars.

“Hey,” I said, “Why don't you write me a story about how your skills are so honed that you can beat any mountain biker on your road bike? I'll run it next to my mountain bike story just to mess with people.”

Kostman's story, Mountain Bikes: Who Needs Them? drew 268 letters and faxes. That's more than the total number of letters the magazine had received all year. They came from average weekend warriors and bike industry titans. Everyone basically called Kostman the most egomaniacal jerk they had ever run across. One fax, addressed “Kostman sucks” was simply a drawing of a large hand with the middle finger extended. The last letter summed it up thusly: “Kostman makes some good points. Too bad he's such an A-hole.”

He loved it. I loved it. I ran the most scathing letters in the next issue, calling them an article on their own. At bike industry gatherings months later, everyone was still talking about Mountain Bikes: Who Needs Them? And everyone was reading the magazine.

I figured I'd better get to know this guy. And over the 20 years since I first interviewed him, I've seen Chris Kostman carve out a multi-faceted niche that is unique in cycling and endurance sports. He's a record-setting athlete with a penchant for crazy events like the Iditabike and the Triple Ironman; a trend-spotter and coach who rode the L.A. personal-trainer wave like John Travolta in the movie Perfect, and helped turn a local trend called Spinning into a world-wide phenomenon; and an entrepreneur who's built endurance events that are among some of the most sought-after by athletes from all around the globe, including the Badwater Ultramarathon and the Furnace Creek 508.

Kostman is not a celebrity like Lance, and he's largely unknown to general public, but he's one of many crucial behind-the-scenes links in a chain that makes the endurance sports scene thrive. And best of all, he hasn't lost the attitude, that oddly ingratiating arrogance that he exhibited in a ten-minute phone call two decades ago. In fact, it's clear that he's succeeded because of it.