Snowmass National 2004

So let me tell you all about my adventure to the Snowmass National this past weekend. Better buckle up and get some soda and snacky-snacks, cuz this is gonna be a long one!

Thursday :: I finally put pants on around 10:04 a.m. And rallied to get the truck locked and loaded. On the road at 10:37 a.m. For a (hopeful) 1:30 p.m. Arrival in snowmass village, which was barely enough time to grab the chameleon, get registered and hit the track for mountain cross practice at 2 p.m. I knew the track was being changed from the regional race we held about a month ago, and I wanted to get it styled and dialed. The promoter had told me earlier in the week that the features were bigger and badder, so I was a bit nervous.

I arrived a little before I thought I would, busted my butt to get registered, threw the number plate on the bike and huffed it up the hill... In the rain. Joy of all joys, how was I supposed to be gettin' her done when it was über slick on the track? Well, let's just say I killed it like chinchilla gorilla, and in no time fuh-lat I was boostin' dubs and railin' turns like it was my job. Halfway through practice, the sky cleared and the sun came out, and my mood began to lift as my mind wandered away from the pressures that are life, work, and everything.

I rendezvoused with Mas Negro and the Big Crank team who I was staying with, walked the mountain cross course with them, and then me and Mas Negros' boy Dave Lee went off in search of food. We ran across the Factory Yeti team, found some all-you-can-eat ribs, and proceeded to hunker down on some serious face stuffing. 3 racks, 4 ears of corn and pile of french fries the size of Delaware later, bedtime became emminent. Goodbye day, hello restful sleep.

Friday :: This day was my 'long' day, with mountain cross practice and qualifying in the a.m., then downhill practice in the early afternoon, and wrapping up with mountain cross finals around 5 p.m. Fortunately, there was about a 3-hour break in there where I could hit the grocery, relax, and do any bike maintenance that needed doin', which was sure to be an issue knowing how well my steeds are maintained!

Mountain cross practice went smooth, and I was feeling good going into qualifying. That is, until my qualifier! Outta the gate, smooth over the first jump, round the first berm, sucked up the roller and pop! Over the stepup jump and oh my goodness I hit that thing way too fast and now I’m gonna die. Recover, recover, recover, everything's fine, shaken but not stirred. Flat corner, pedal pedal pedal jump! Case hard on the double, slow berm then hook double up case again... Damn... Pedal pedal roller roller roller roller berm flat turn hook pedal finish. Whew. That sucked, but it could have been worse, I suppose. Come to find out I qualified 7th out of 9, meaning I made the show and got to race! 8 men in the finals, advancing one round meant a podium finish. No pressure!

Downhill practice was downright scary. The track at the regional race was burly, but with so many more riders hauling ass down it, the 'gnar factor' really got out of hand. It was as if the ski patrol decided they needed some extra avalanche control practice and launched mortar shells at the track, it was so rutted out, full of huge holes, eroded, and generally just blown up. Also not helping was my de-tensioned rear wheel, with about 1/3 of the spokes as loose as spaghetti noodles every corner felt like death on a hot plate. Sick! On my third practice run, following Mas Negro through the dust, his bike kicked up a beagle-sized pointy rock right into my line, and kapow! Over the bars I go, flailing through the dust and the rocks and the whatnot. Short story is I walked away alright, but missing a good chunk of flesh from the tip of my left index finger. Yowza! Fortunately, a medic was not far away, and obliged me with a little saline and a bandage. Good as new, sucka!

With finger properly anesthetized, it was off to the grocery to purchase sustenance for the rest of the weekend. Mas Negro and I hit the grocery for some vittles. While shopping, we were treated to a little "Brandy (You're A Fine Girl)" playing lightly over the grocery stereo. Me and Mas Negro? Let's just say... Spontaneous sing-a-long at the top of the pipes, much to the chagrin of the other shoppers. Damn straight. Let's just say, it was pretty sweet to know that I would have that tune stuck in my head for all of my mountain cross runs in a couple of hours!

Friday Night :: Mountain Cross finals were held that evening, and my class had eight qualifiers. Two rounds of 4. All I had to do was get across that finish line 1st or 2nd in my first moto, and I'd be podium boy at a national. Pressures on, captain! Lined 'em up, track standing in the gate, and BAM! My foot pops out of my pedal just as the gate drops. D'OH! Pedal pedal pedal gotta catch the pack pedal pedal oh holy what the heck? I'm in 4th place, charging for the first turn, when the guys in 2nd and 3rd place EXPLODE into each other, causing a huge pile up of bikes and bodies. SWEET. I ride around them, foot still unclipped from my pedal, trying to crank it out but way too focused on my pedal situation. But I'm riding bigâ„¢ and trying to be smooth, but I can hear the two fellas behind me clammering down the track after me. The last couple of corners are a quick one-two chicane sort of action, and I've got the third place rider coming in hot on my left, which was the outside of the second to last turn. I could tell his plan was to swing wide through the turn, then dive in for the inside pass on the next turn, so counter measures HAD to be taken. I charge hard for the inside on the first turn, then just as he comes in to pinch me I swing WAY out to the outside, running him up on the berm and shutting him out of the inside lane on the final turn. Foot still unclipped, pedalling like a madman I held him off through the last straight to the finish line, taking 2nd place by a wheel! SWEET! This sent me to the finals, which meant the worst I could place was 4th for the event! How rad! My first podium all year and it would be at a national! In the final round, I got a better start (my foot stayed in the pedal) but I was still in 4th going into the first turn. A little trickery in the 2nd straight put me in 3rd place, charging hard to maintain. Through the 3rd turn I spotted the 4th place rider cutting the inside to inside cross-track line, and his trajectory was basically going to put him t-boning me as I reached the 4th turn if I didn't do SUMPIN'. The straight consisted of a roller followed by a set of doubles, which I had been hook-jumping all weekend. This put me RIGHT in 4th place guy's path. OR, I could brake check, roll the double, let the guy pass me and BLAMMO! He would hit the 2nd place guy right in front of me, allowing me the pass. Now, let me essplain something. You're NOT suppose to make contact with the other riders in a mountain cross race. Sometimes, it's a little inevitable. Such was the case here. 4th place guy was not TRYING to run into anyone on PURPOSE, but he was going too fast for what the corner was going to allow, and he was taking someone out and I knew it. It was risky, but I threw down the brake check, rolled the double, the guy passed me and... KABLOW! Right into the 2nd place guy, bikes and bodies and dust and HELL YEAH yours truly pedalling right around them! Cleaned the chicane, pedalled hard over the last jump and BOO-YEAH!

2ND PLACE EXPERT MEN 30-39 MOUNTAIN CROSS!

That night, on the podium, felt SO friggin' good. I have a bunch of friends that nicknamed me "lucky star" cuz of the other rider's crashing themselves out. But there's a saying that goes "rubbin's racin'"... And then there's me that says "crashing is NOT fast." so hey, I didn't race fast, but I raced smart and protected my lines and that's why I get to stand on the box... At least on that day? Other friends of mine got a photo of me on the podium, but I haven't seen it yet. It featured me in my pink jersey, arms raised high, holding the award in one hand and frosty cold PBR in the other. Nothing but class, I tell ya.

After mountain cross finals and awards, I ran into my friend Matt Shirley, who invited me over to his parent's condo for Italian food. Heck yeah! Score! 2nd place AND free food? Sold. Food was excellent, wine and convo with the fam was good, and then me and matt and wendy-lee headed over to Willy's trailer to drink beers and hit this big-ass hip jumpâ„¢ Willy built in the parking lot. During this time, my cousin from Michigan showed up, so we kicked it back to my condo, caught up some, grilled up some steaks and headed to bed.

Saturday :: Downhill finals, with practice before hand at like noon or some such shit. Downhill was plaguing me all weekend, the course was rough, dusty and slippery. The steeps through the trees were giving me oodles of fits, as I kept falling on every attempt to get through them. Check out the pic on the right for an idear of what I'm talking about. Basically, a dusty rock garden to a hard left, straight off a drop-off to an immediate hard right, all through 8 inches of powdery moondust that made you feel like you had two flat tires. During practice, I got out of this section to learn that, well, I actually HAD a flat tire! D'oh. Back to the pits, fixed things all up, but too late to get another practice run in. Bummer. Now is the waiting game until my race run.

Race time comes, and I'm pretty stoked. I have a clear head, and am GOING for it, checker or the wreckerâ„¢ despite the setbacks of practice. Beep. Beep. Beep beep. Beep. BEEEEEEEEEEEEP and out of the start house I charge, cleaning the first few off-camber sweeping turns at 20+ mph, feeling good, watch the rut watch the rut! Down the steep left, over the culvert and into the switchbacks. Brake a little, then let go into the next one. Repeat 4 times, then on the last switchback put all eight fingers on the grips and hang on! SWOOOOOOP onto the flat, bunny hop the ditch and PEDAL PEDAL PEDAL into the tight woods. Turn turn, flow over the rocks, miss the stump, g-out onto the road crossing. Damn, things are going well! Remember to breathe, brake it easy easy EASY down the roll in, stay to the left of that stump! Breathe, a couple more s-turns and then you got the "drop." remember to turn into the middle of it, that's the closest you've come to cleaning it. Remember to turn, right in front of THAT rock. Remember to... Oops. OK, we'll just turn here and rawk the outside line, apparently that was too fast to make the middle line. Feet on the pedals, crank crank, square off, feather the brakes, ass over your rear tire tire and BOOM! Down the chute, lock 'em up and throw it right and BAM! Clean clean clean, 1st time all weekend. Alright, get on the gas, left turn, right turn, hop the log, left of the rock, stay tight left pedal pedal and BAM! Out onto open ski run, with feet having never left the pedals! But no time to rest, it's wide open to the bottom pedal pedal pedal no more gear? Shift down three clicks and pedal pedal pe- WHAT? Clunk clunk clunk pedals are stuck? Look down, back pedal, forward pedal, clunk clunk clunk (all of this at easily 35+ mph) chain! Gears! Frame! JAMMED!!!

So I get to coast the bottom 3rd of the course, pumping every corner I can, maintaining momentum, across the two bridges, couple of sweeping turns and then out onto the fire road where I'm braking heavily in order to not slide out, roller-coastering into the big 180 degree left-hand berm, up and over the hip jump, across the bridge gooning out for the fans, through the final turns and coasting rather anti-climactically across the finish. Damn.

What a drag, the run was going SO good, and I easily lost 20-25 seconds by not being able to pedal. Who's to blame? Yeah, that'd be my own damn self and my bad mechanic skills! I got the rear wheel in a little crooked when I changed out my flat, and I paid for it. 15th place out of 21 racers. My time back from a top 10 finish?

20.52 seconds.

Although a little bummed, I was pretty satisfied knowing I had ridden as well as I could have, and I learned a pretty good lesson about fixing one's bike. Do it right, is what I think I learned! Heh. We went to awards because a few of my friends had done really well, and we drank beers and cheered for everyone and generally had a great time. I got to hang out with my cousin more that night, and we decided to keep the party going after the awards and see what sort of trouble we could get into. Bar hopping ensued, a large amount of controlled substances were consumed, and the night ended with me getting escorted from a certain establishment for calling the bartender a "bitch" and then having to take care of and walk home to waiting parents an aforementioned Matt Shirley, who managed to somehow drink his weight in vodka.

But that's a story for another time!