Lesson #1 : never stop hammering
It’s a skeleton crew at the start line for the Sport class race, at Ski Bowl near Mt. Hood. Maybe people have been scared off by the dismal weather that always seems to hang around these mountains – the last time they had a race here, in early June – it snowed. Currently it’s barely 10 degrees at 10 am and a light drizzle is falling. I see one person I know in my class – he was at the race last week. I managed to win that one, while he came in a couple of minutes behind in 3rd place [Pic at right is me on the way to my first ever race win] I know I’m a marked man now, and he’s definitely giving me and my equipment the once-over. He’s racer-boy with his sponsored kit and minimal accessories – where do these people carry their pumps and other shit ? Me, I’m wearing baggy shorts and flip-flops and guzzling a beer 1 minute before the start – ok well the first one is true.
The gun goes off and we tear for the hole shot a couple hundred meters away. A good dozen get ahead of me as is normal. I don’t care too much – feeling kinda weak today and unmotivated with the rain. Into the single track, which is nice and technical with plenty of up-and-down and lotsa roots and rocks – makes me nostalgic for Squamish – sniff. Following too close to someone, I smash into them when they fail to negotiate a 4” uphill log – damn I keep forgetting how many of these Oregon racer types have crappy technical skills. Wait a second, that used to happen on Jack’s Trail in the Test of Metal too J
We get to the first major intersection, which is an open area with a couple of ski lifts and trails and roads going off in 6 different intersections. I’m in the front group of 3 or 4. Screwup #1 : the trail we’re supposed to go on is roped off, but the course directors yell at us to hop over some logs and go around the tape. Start going uphill, and RacerBoy and another guy motor ahead, I don’t have the legs to match their pace. Then hit a long rock-strewn downhill with some ledges – I pass one guy, and then in the technical single-track, start closing in on RacerBoy. I pass him in a set of switchbacks, and he voices his annoyance. Now I’m the front-runner. Hit the same complicated intersection again, and start a long climb up a road. RB is maybe 15 seconds back. Near the top of the climb, look for the downhill trail back to the start. The one I think we’re supposed to turn on is roped off, so I’m about to keep going when I notice some guy huffing and puffing up the hill. Screwup #2: this guy was supposed to open up the descent trail and direct people down it – guess he needs more uphill running practise ! I get delayed 30 seconds, and my pursuers are closing in !
The downhill is pretty gnarly – babyheads, ruts and 2 foot ledges. I push hard down it, hoping to regain my advantage. Almost lose it a couple of times, but I’m not used to riding a hardtail down this stuff. At the bottom start my second lap, go to lock down my fork – hey it’s already locked out. Hmm, no wonder that downhill seemed a little rougher than usual – I guess the blow-off valve works J
I keep looking behind me during the 2nd lap – no one in sight. Cool – got the gold medal wrapped up baby! Then hear something behind me on the switchbacks – some kid appears out of nowhere – he says he’s 16 and not tired – whatever, no problem – I let him by as we come out of the woods. Hit the disfunctional intersection again for the last time. The organizers are a little confused about where to direct me, do a quick huddle, then send me up the road. I know we have to take some different bit of singletrack on the 2nd lap back to the finish line, not sure where that starts. But Screwup #3 : I hear a lot of yelling behind me, and turn around to see the organizers gesticulating at me to turn back, they sent me the wrong way. So I turn around – apparently the other kid didn’t. They point me at some singletrack that looks familiar – hey that’s where we came out after we started, right ?
So I think I’m going in the right direction, until I see riders coming straight at me ! They are as surprised as I am, and there is much muttering and swearing and ‘what the fuck!?’. Come out onto the double-track section which points me back towards that main intersection a bit. Just before it goes back into singletrack I’m within shouting distance of the organizers, so I yell at them if I’m going the right way. I seem to hear that I’m on the right track, so keep going. More riders coming at me, and now I think I most definitely fucked up somewhere. Slow down a bit, feeling pissed off that the easy win has now turned into a major snafu. Then I hear an exultant shout behind me, and turn around to see Racer Boy charging full steam ahead. Somewhat stunned, I let him pass me. Finally my brain kicks into gear – if he thinks he knows where he’s going, this must be right ! So start chasing, but he’s got a good gap on me. But more riders coming at us cause a general slowdown, and I get a bit closer. Out of the singletrack and I’m hot on his tail charging down the road. But I can barely keep up – he’s got gold medal fever and is totally adrenalized. There’s a final steep rocky loose pitch near the end, and I shift into the big ring for the big showdown. He wavers a bit at the top, drifting left, and I seize my opportunity and drive hard down the fall-line, passing him. I hear him yell ‘You bastard!’ as I mash across a bridge, then up the last 100 feet to the finish line. And then… another Screwup ?!
I’m blasting for the finish line, my vision distorted from mud and sweat and the pounding blood, and then just as I speed into the finish chute, I hear people yelling “Slow down!”, and someone comes into my peripheral vision, and I end up crashing into the netting just before the finish line pole – the chute had a sharp bend in it right at the finish line. As I’m untangling myself, the other guy crosses the line. Shit – a few feet short of the line, and I’ve lost the numero uno placing. Stunned, the other guy congratulates me, saying “That was yours man”, acknowledging that I should have won the race, but didn’t. They write names on the board, and that doesn’t look like my name on the top. Then the organizer hands us medals. What’s this – mine has a goldish colour ? Look at the board – hey that is my name on the top ! So I guess they realized when they slowed me down that I’d already passed the timing line …
Man this race was one screwup after another – luckily justice prevailed or something.
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