Tuesday, September 5, 2017

Crashes, and unfulfilled dreams of steel drums

Another day, another crash ...
Let's get the nasty stuff out of the way first: Since my last post a few weeks ago, I once again was involved in a bike crash. On Tuesday, August 22, I was out for my usual morning road ride when one of the legs on my Kestrel EMS fork failed and I hit the ground. I'm not exactly sure what happened since I apparently was knocked out for a short period (I was by myself, so this could have been 10 seconds or a few minutes), but the results were not pretty: My face took a lot of abuse as you can see from the picture, my left wrist is still sprained (but getting a little bit better every day), several fingers of the right hand were jammed like in the days when I played basketbal and handball, and both legs had some good bruises and scrapes right above the knees. I saw my dentist since one of my front teeth was a bit loose and also showed a slight chip, but I may have dodged the bullet and the tooth may actually be fine in the long run. My septum appears to be cracked or worse, but what good is it to run to the doc and get an x-ray for the better part of a C-note and be told "not much we can do about that"? And the rib is healing on its own, too. Things could have been much worse.

A few days later I was making the (almost) annual pilgrimage to Wichita Falls' Hotter'n Hell when I witnessed an oncoming 18-wheeler jackknife on rain-slick HWY 183 and plow into the median. I was the first one on the scene, and thank goodness there was no fire since I would have been totally helpless with the two occupants being trapped in the cabin, hanging upside down but thankfully being responsive. I called 911, other cars stopped, and first responders were on the scene in less than 15 minutes. That experience was certainly not a good omen for Friday's crits and Saturday's road races, but the crashes that did occur were limited to road rash and no broken bones, at least in the races that I worked.
Now, that's a serious crash!
Two days later I was off to Trinidad and Tobago, for the 2017 Elite Pan-American Track Championships. Well, guess what, people crashed here, too, incurring mostly nasty burn wounds from sliding on the fast wooden track of the beautiful indoor velodrome in Couva, about 45 minutes south of Trinidad's capital of Port of Spain. For five long days I saw not much more than the inside of the velodrome, in the company of old friends such as Juan from Argentina and Hector from Colombia. Rainier from Venezuela and Omar from Argentina rounded out our international crew. Our days started with our 8:30 a.m. bus ride in the Sexy Rabbit (a nickname that was based on a sticker on the back of the bus) to the velodrome, for the morning session. A few times things took longer than expected  and we simply stayed in the 'drome until the evening session, which started at 6:00 p.m. Juan and I would finish our work as late as midnight, and then we'd be shuttled back to our hotel, the Cara Suites in Claxton Bay.
Is this called track rash?
If that doesn't sound like much of a vacation, well, it wasn't. We pushed long hours, saw very little of Trinidad, had rice, pasta, and chicken for every lunch and dinner, and had to get our cultural capsules through conversation with our warm and friendly Trini hosts. They are certainly nice people down here: They are open, have a quick smile and an even brighter laugh, and they are interested in the world beyond the island. I had lots of interesting conversations, be it with a janitor, a shuttle driver, a security guard, or a race doctor. I learned a bit about the history of this dual island country that celebrated its 55 years of independence from Britain just a few days ago. Whenever I mentioned that I live in Texas, genuine sympathy would immediately well up with questions about whether my house was OK and my family and friends were safe in the aftermath of hurricane Harvey.

This is the Couva velodrome, a modern and well-equipped facility
As mentioned, we spent the vast bulk of our waking hours in the velodrome. On the last day of the competition, however, we had a few extra hours, and the organizers arranged for our crew to go on a short bus excursion to Port of Spain, about 45 minutes to the north of Couva, where the velodrome is located. (The 'drome is part of a larger sports complex that includes a modern swim facility as well as a large soccer stadium. Unfortunately, word doesn't seem to have made it around that this facility exists as daily spectator attendance was dismal.) I had hoped to see some of the Trinidad that comes to mind when one hears the name, but the reality here on the west side of the island is different: We barreled down a four-lane highway full of cars, trucks, and buses, traversing a commercial and industrial area that stretches for mile after mile. Refineries belch out noxious fumes, and nature can only be imagined in the mountain range toward the north. Trinidad and Tobago have about 1.3 million inhabitants combined, but fewer than 100,000 of them live on the much smaller Tobago, and the bulk of the population is concentrated on the west side of Trinidad.
Afternoon excursion to Port of Spain, Trinidad's capital
A Trini, as they call themselves 
Port of Spain's malecon, with hints of Venezuela in the very far distance
Port of Spain may have a grandiose name, but from what we saw it is a dirty place that is just now starting to try to preserve some of the British legacy in the form of some of the old buildings. There's preciously little to attract a tourist, and our driver admonished us to stay close together and be careful when we took an hour-long stroll in downtown. On the attractiveness scale I'd give this place one out of ten possible points. Don't waste time here.

And so we drove back to the velodrome, passing fairly crummy-looking shopping malls that our driver proudly pointed out. Had the bus broken down, there would have been enough repair places to get us rolling again. The visual onslaught of billboards hawking everything from Nestle products to international banks was almost too much. Trinidad most certainly must have a different side somewhere, but we never came close to it. For all the talk about ecology, pristine beaches, and refreshing waterfalls in the tourist booklet in my room, the stark reality of all those smokestacks and rusting infrastructure didn't make me feel as if this could be the same country. How else can one explain the cemetery of seven ocean vessels right in front of the hotel, half sunk, rusting, and looking like the aftermath of Pearl Harbor?
Pearl Harbor just off Trinidad's western coast, in front of the hotel
On my final day in Trinidad, I finally had a chance to eat outside of the velodrome when my shuttle driver took me to a tiny diner where I had roti. Upon his suggestion I ordered it paratha style, meaning that instead of using utensils I gathered my curried goat stew with the unleavened flatbread and ate with my fingers. I felt like Anthony Bourdain in this tiny place, eating the first food on the island that actually tasted of something! Trinidad has a very large Indian population, and roti came highly recommended. It really was a shame that our hotel was so terribly isolated (OK, there was a Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant within walking distance) and that our work schedule did not allow a little more immersion. I tried my best later in the afternoon when I went to my first (and last) rum shop. Our drivers had told me about the rum shops, which really are bars where one can buy beer and rum in small cordials from the keeper of the place who stays safely tucked away behind iron bars. You exchange money through the bars, get your beverage, and then you hang out. Actually, you lime, as they call it down here. If liming is not allowed in a particular place, signs will tell you so. Well, on my last night I limed, alright, and then had a Chinese dinner (the only other place with food apart from the KFC) in a restaurant that required me to press a bell to gain admittance. Safely back in the hotel I had a final nightcap at the bar, sponsored by a German business man who's been selling heavy equipment to the Trinis for the past 20 years. That was better than the rum shop, for sure.

Immediate surroundings of the Cara Suites Hotel
Downtown Claxton Bay in the evening--yep, it ain't much
Overall, it was an interesting, albeit unsatisfying trip. But I came to work and not to vacation, although the latter is implicit in most of these gigs. Will I come back to Trinidad? Well, maybe Tobago, which is supposed to be a natural heaven. But here, overlooking the stretch of water that on the other side is bordered by Venezuela, I didn't see anything that's compelling enough for me to come back. Except, maybe, the promise of actually seeing some real steel drums and not just the tiny replica that our gracious hosts bestowed upon us. Maybe....


Monday, August 14, 2017

Monsoon season in Colorado--or how I survived a second grand tour

A week ago I was sitting in my hotel room in Salt Lake City, and tonight I am sitting in a Doubletree in Denver. Working two back-to-back grand tours in the US is no laughing matter. The days are long, the transfers stretch forever, the meals are shitty, and there's always too much booze because you feel entitled to have a second beer (or third) because you worked so hard.
Ominous clouds move in--monsoon season in the Rockies
The inaugural 2017 Colorado Classic (Inaugural? Kinda--Red Zinger, Coors Classic, and the US Pro Challenge were precursors of this race, which was reborn after last year's Pro Challenge was cancelled because of lacking funds) was a four-stage affair that started last Thursday in Colorado Spring and ended today in Denver.
The Purple People Healer, as the CC's race doctor's vehicle was called
OK, let me say it: Despite its UCI designation of 2.HC this race was not able to rival last week's Tour of Utah in many aspects. For one, the stages were relatively short, with none coming even close to 100 miles. The atmosphere at the starts (and finishes) was not what had been bench marked Utah: Dave Towle, as probably the US' best field-of-play announcer, simply cannot be replaced by two female announcers whose shrill voices just don't rile up the masses as does Dave's baritone. I'm glad to see female announcers trying to break the glass ceiling of this metier, but Dave is simply better. And the crowds didn't really compare to what Utah dished up. And so did other aspects of the race.
On the way from Breckenridge to Denver, the only time I really got to see the mountains
But not the racing. It was exciting stuff to witness, with GC changing hands daily and riders taking chances and risks to further their position. There were none of those epic, long stages; rather, two exciting circuit races and two long loops with finish circuits provided spectators with exciting racing.

Media--top--and spectators with a micro-brewery's hardware in the background. Please don't notice the crowds.
After the Tour of Utah had finished, I had left the Ritchey and its case with Fred and Candi, my assistants. They were also going to work Colorado, so it made only sense to leave the bike with them in their RV. We reunited last Wednesday in Colorado Springs (after I had had a brief 36 hours at home in Lubbock), and over the course of this short, four-stage race, I still managed to go out every day and ride a total of 73 miles. None of it was as scenic as my riding had been in Utah, but it was certainly better than nothing. The weather in Colorada Springs, where I stayed for three nights, was fall-like, with cool temperatures and low clouds in the mornings. Denver, where I spent another three nights, was better and I had enjoyable rides through the new suburban areas of Stapleton. I never got close to the mountains, at least not to ride. Only on stage two, we left Colorado Springs in the morning, headed for the finish in Breckenridge, and then drove another two hours to our hotel in Denver. That was a really long day, but the drive was gorgeous.
Colorado Springs summer weather
Now I am done with races for at least two weeks and I'm heading home for some R&R. These past three weeks have been tough, with quite a bit of work. It'll be nice to be around the house, cook meals, have wine with friends, and just take it easy for a while.
Sunday morning ride in Denver's suburb of Stapelton

Tuesday, August 8, 2017

Help! I think I'm turning into a Mormon!

The 2017 Tour of Utah wound its way around this lake on the way to Snowbasin Resort
Or so you would think, with my now having traveled to Utah twice in less than three months. But fear not, even though Utah's scenery is up there with the best of them, the draft beer is still watered down and there is that eerie feeling of being just a step away from being absorbed into the beehive, so I think I'll continue to just visit this fine state from time to time.
Once again, the Ritchey was my faithful companion on 277 miles of great riding
For nine days I was part of the 2017 Larry H. Miller Tour of Utah, an event that proudly calls itself "America's Toughest Stage Race." With more than 600 miles of racing in seven days and something like 36,500 feet of total elevation gain, this is truly one of the premier bike racing events in the Americas. This year's route saw most stages relatively close to Salt Lake City and the Ogden area; still, there were enough transfers so that I drove almost 700 miles during the week.
Panoramic view of Bear Lake, where I crossed over into Idaho for my first visit of that state
Because most stages started relatively early in the day (several times before 9:00 a.m.) I was able to finish my work earlier than usual, leaving me with enough time to ride a total of 277 miles on the Ritchey. At times it took a bit of convincing to get me on the bike, because I did work a lot and certainly suffered a bit of sleep deprivation, but once I was rolling I enjoyed my excursions.

Just a few scenes from various stage starts
Even before the event started properly with the Team Managers' Meeting on Sunday afternoon, I had put in 44 miles at Bear Lake, a beautiful body of water that is nestled between several mountain ranges. In winter it probably gets pretty damn cold up there, but in the summer it is paradisaical. The area serves as a bird sanctuary with hundreds of different species that can be found here. As a matter of fact, I was surprised by how how many wetlands I encountered on my rides. There always seemed to be some water that added a special touch to the beautiful scenery.
In the flat farmlands west of the Jordan River, north of Salt Lake City
While we were in Ogden I took a long ride up Blacksmith Canyon, a 50-miler that winds its way into the Wasatch range. Gorgeous! For the entire race, the weather was hot and dry (not easy for the riders, that's for sure, but better than wet and cold), and I enjoyed my rides day after day. Finding routes was not too difficult, and I recorded my rides with Strava so I can go back and ride them next time I'm in the area. One late afternoon, while we were in Layton, I rode the causeway out to Antelope Island, which is situated in the Great Salt Lake. Wow, was that a strange ride--totally flat on a beautifully smooth, wide road with hardly any traffic, and views of the mountains in the background while the salt lake with its population of wild birds stretched on toward nothingness in the other direction. The smell was brackish and even a bit sulfurous, and whenever I stopped to take a photo nasty black-flies would descend upon me.
Antelope Island causeway: straight, smooth, and empty
Antelope Island, mirrored in the brackish waters of the Great Salt Lake
Sunset coming to the Great Salt Lake
In the greater Salt Lake City area I rode three times on bike trails: twice on the Provo/Jordan River Parkway and the other time on the D&RWG Rail Trail. While the former is curvy as hell, following every bend of the rather small Jordan River for more than 45 miles, the rails-to-trails path is straight as an arrow. Both provide cyclists, joggers, in-line skaters, and mothers with baby strollers with a safe environment away from traffic to exercise. Really, really cool. I only wish that the Parkway featured a little bit of signage to make it easier to stay on the main trail. There are lots of intersections and branches into the neighborhoods, and unless you're a local you'll find yourself spit out into the streets again, having to backtrack. I talked to two local users of the paths, and they expressed the same sentiments.
Provo/Jordan River Parkway
D&RWG Rail Trail
Steve and Amy Wasmund arrive at the finish of stage 6, in Snowbird
And then, there was of course the race--after all, I was in Utah to work. It was a sweet reunion with Fred and Candi, the owners of the RV that served as my office for the week. We had seen each other last a few years back at the US Pro Challenge in Colorado. We worked well together, and on our last evening they invited me over to the RV park where they were staying just outside of Salt Lake City. We had a relaxed barbecue and great non-work-related conversation. That same day, at Snowbird, I got to see again--after all those years!--my old friend Steve Wasmund who, with his wife, Amy, had ridden the CoMotion tandem that I had sold him eons ago all the way to the stage finish. We had been in contact thanks to Facebook, and I was able to use his help in my work. Next time I hope we'll have a bit more time to socialize.
Wetlands in Idaho
North end of Bear Lake
The entrance to Blacksmith Canyon
I have to say that this is probably my favorite of the four "grand tours" that I have worked in North America: The Tour of California wears you out because of the many, many long transfer miles; Alberta was a bit too much like West Texas; and the former Tour of Colorado/US Pro Challenge was spectacular but not always blessed with decent weather. The 2017 Tour of Utah was a total pleasure to work, and I hope that I'll get a chance to go back out to the beehive in the near future--but I don't think that I'll apply to become a Mormon just yet.
Hold on a minute ...


Tuesday, July 25, 2017

Another successful Mountain Bike National Championship!

Evening view from my condo of Ballhooter lift and the WV mountains
I'm sitting in 10 F of AA 435 from Charlotte to Dallas, one of those rare flights where my upgrade request has not been successful--never mind, it is the best seat in Economy with more legroom than any other seat on the plane. The reason my upgrade didn't make it, according to the AAngel in the Admirals Club, is the severe weather that tore through the area over the past few days and shut things down last night.
Right before the start of the Elite Men's Cross Country race--a serious affair
Right before the start of the first stage of the Enduro--a little more relaxed, maybe?
It must have been the same system that screwed with us up in Snowshoe, West Virginia, for the entire past week. At 1,600 meters, on top of the mountain in a resort overlooking what seems to be the entire state, we were on mountain-wide weather holds more often than I want to remember. If you're not familiar with the term "weather hold," here goes: When lightning strikes within a pre-determined distance (sometimes 10 miles, sometimes 12, even 20), or if audible thunder is present, operations issues a weather-hold--lifts shut down as soon as the last passenger has arrived at the top (or bottom), resort guests are directed to seek immediate shelter, and anything outdoorsy comes to a grinding halt for the next 30 minutes. If there's another lightning strike, the clock is reset for another 30 minutes, and so on. I once sat at the top of the downhill race in Angel Fire for something like two hours, twiddling thumbs. Even with modern weather apps and other forecasting tools, it is difficult to predict what will happen to that yellow-and-red cell moving toward you. Sometimes the lightning strikes cease, and sometimes the path of a cell will change just a bit one way or the other. But most of the time, it'll hit you with a vengeance.
Inside Snowshoe's operations center, trying to assess what the weather will do
I was Chief Referee of USA Cycling's 2017 Mountain Bike National Championships in Snowshoe, West Virginia, an honor and huge responsibility that I had shouldered the past two years when we had hosted Nationals at Mammoth Mountain, California. Since the 2015 championships, we have run a unified championship, meaning that both endurance events (Cross Country, Short-Track, and the non-championship Team Relay) as well as gravity events (Downhill, Dual Slalom, and Enduro) are offered at one venue. The result: more than 1,200 athletes competing for Stars and Stripes National Champion jerseys for age groups ranging from 11 to 85+ years old. And we have so-called non-championship events for riders as young as 6 years and adult non-Cat 1 athletes that award truly  prestigious medals to their respective winners.
In Dual Slalom qualifying, all age categories ride once on each course on a first-come first-serve basis--little girls and burly dudes 
In other words: It's an insane schedule. For 2017, USAC had decided to expand the event from six days to seven, meaning that one day (Monday) was a day for course inspections, registration, and the first riders meetings of the week. From Tuesday forward we had qualifying and seeding runs as well as finals on a daily basis. As they say, it takes a whole village to nurture a child--or something like that--and a mega event like Nationals is no different. There is USAC's staff (headed by the indomitable Tara McCarthy with the assistance of the always-nutty yet insanely computer-savvy Tom Mahoney, plus their staff that runs venue set-up, registration, awards presentations, and everything in-between), the "mountain people" (lead by overall head-honcho "Big Hat" Andy Nall as well as the fellow who designed the courses and keeps them rideable when weather hits, Philip Yates), and finally us, the officiating crew. Each one of these operational areas has someone whose ass is on the line, and for the officials it was once again yours truly. I was fortunate to have a stellar crew of eight officials from all over the nation who supervised and judged the competition. Believe me, the pressure is on when USAC's VP of Operations, Chuck Hodge, and even the President and CEO himself, Derek Bouchard-Hall, are on site.
Downhill racers do get dirty
The bike wash--both at the Downhill as well as the XC--was a popular spot
My job as CR of such a major race (by far the biggest and most complex mountain bike race in the US year after year) begins a month or so before the actual competition starts. My input covers both the nitty-gritty details of the daily calendar (training times, anticipated duration of individual events, even the schedule for the time of our daily racers meetings) as well as the so-called Technical Guide, a document that spells out special regulations and policies that are specific to this particular event and are in addition to the rules that are set out in USAC's general rulebook, which I'm supposed to have memorized. On all but one day we ran two or more finals in various disciplines, which require separate officiating crews; one day we had four championship jersey finals! Believe me, building the hour-by-hour schedule for each referee without overlaps or impossibilities (such as getting from the start of the Dual Slalom to the finish line of the Cross Country) is a task that takes days and requires continual fine tuning.
Nothing like seeing dear friends such as Christina Gokey-Smith ... 
... or high school league star and now promising UCI racer Fiona Dougherty.
I've known Pro Woman racer Elizabeth Saenz since she was maybe 7 years old!
Kaya Musgrave won the Stars and Stripes in the Junior Women 11-12 category and wnated her dad to take this picture

And then, of course, there's the weather. You have prepared the perfect schedule, only to have a 1-hour mountain hold throw everything into disarray. Days have only a finite number of daylight hours, and all three gravity events were dependent on the ski lifts. Snowshoe is a weird place as it is an upside-down mountain. Sounds odd, doesn't it? I had worked Collegiate Nationals at this venue before and thus was familiar with the general layout of the village and the various courses, and especially the anomaly of an upside-down mountain: The condos, shops, and restaurants ("the "village") are on top of the mountain, and you take the lifts to get back up after doing your ski or bike run. Angel Fire and Mammoth are normal: You take the lift up to do your run and come back down, whooping. And one more thing: Ski lifts need operators, and if they start running their operation at 6:30 a.m. to transport the first training runs back up to the start at 7:00 a.m., they're not crazy about running the lifts much beyond 5 p.m. And neither do the medical dudes ("ski patrol," but in the summer they sit on quads) or the many course marshals who have radios to call in an accident. You get the picture.
Visibility for several of the Downhill training sessions was rather poor
Well, let me tell you: Big Hat, aka Andy, gave us all the resources that we needed to keep competitions running when weather delays were about to derail our entire schedule. When you have a chock-full schedule, how do you reschedule a final that will take an extra 1 1/2 or 2 hours for the next day? So, the lifities were working until 8:00 p.m. on some days. Yep, we call the operators lifties. They are the equivalent of the carnies who on a daily basis set up and tear down the start/finish area at a major traveling stage race. We're a tight-knit tribe, and I am proud to be one of this community.
I love the way a Pro mechanic will meticulously set up his little world in the technical assistance zone
I can't say enough positive things about our athletes. Personally I heard not a single negative comment about our many weather-related holds and delays. I faced a few unhappy riders who were pissed about the unacceptably delayed final results of the two-day Enduro. But once I explained to them that one of our guys (diplomatic ID for mountain guy? timing? official? bear?) had connected the electronic timing box for the start of stage 8 with the wrong cables (stage 4 and stage 8 were separated by just a few meters, on two subsequent days), they mellowed down. "Dude, don't you just totally see how anyone could have fucked up like this?" That helped. And when I told them that we had a full set of manual back-up data (I had personally scrambled to get to the start of this stage because I knew that the starter of stage 5 who also was the starter for stage 8, the final one, might or might not make it in time for the fastest riders to do their run ahead of everybody else; so I recorded the first half dozen riders and then Jean, our stage 5 and 8 starter, arrived and took over with aplomb), they were OK. They even understood that processing 125+ riders' data for altogether eight starts and eight finishes, down to the tenths of seconds, takes time--yes, that's about 1,000 data points for the manual back-up and cross-check. We had electronic data for all but one stage, but chips make mistakes just as humans do, and we checked everything. I am now confident that the eventual winners in the various categories are wearing the Starts and Stripes because they truly earned those jerseys.
During one of the transfer stages of the Enduro, a racer fixes his bike while tourist babes in bikinis look on, not so sure what to make of these aliens
Positive. No other way to describe it. Yes, I had to assemble a panel twice--that's a situation when the Chief Referee gets together with two other senior officials and the three make a final ruling on a protest brought on by a racer, always involving issues that are beyond the scope of timing errors. The rulings we came up with inevitably did not please each one of the affected parties because it is always A versus B, so somebody "loses" out. Twice in a week-long competition--not bad. Actually, pretty damn good.
Howard Grotts, of the Men Elite Men's Cross Country event
I heard my name ("Hey Jürgen, how are things going?" "Hey Jürgen, thanks for being here!" "Hey Jürgen, remember me?") more often than I have in all of the races I have worked in the past year. It's scary. People I have had multiple encounters and conversations with, well, I at least recognize them. But to be truthful: I'm terrible with names and faces. In my defense, I meet literally thousands of people every year who shake my hand, have serious 2-minute conversations with me, and then vanish into the mountain-scape. I wish I had better recall when it comes to faces and especially names, and I am really working on it with little tricks (mnemonics it's called, I believe). But when you're walking through the village from the Ballhooter lift to the stage and are trying to figure out in your head how in three days you're going to manage getting Janet or Emily over to the 80% together with Ugur so that either one gets this experience, and you're also mulling the issue with the delays in getting racers out of the gate at the Dual Slalom from where you just came, and then somebody comes up beaming and shouting your name and then high-fives you and tells you how his son just placed third in the 13-14 XC and how he so much appreciates what you have done for his son and his family and the sport, and you have no fucking idea who he is but you smile and humbly (truly!) accept all these accolades and deflect by highlighting your crew, and the mountain people including Andy, and of course USAC including Tara, and thank him for supporting the sport and bringing his entire family out, well, then you feel a bit overwhelmed and ask yourself: Is this what a CEO goes through? And this happens all the time, all the way through the racers meetings and the question-and answer session. Trust and respect--I want to thank all racers for granting me these two. And if my crew did't trust and respect me, we'd all be history.
Dual Slalom is fast and exciting, but numbers were somewhat down this year.
So, in other words: It was an awesome experience that couldn't have happened if it had't been for this entire support entourage. I worked my ass off (26.5 overtime hours in seven days of work, and we consider a normal working day as having 9 clock hours), but that paled in comparison to my secretary, Sara, who  who piled on another 5 or 6 hours on top of that. No telling how many hours Tara and Tom put in. When we had our farewell party at the Firefox Grill last night, we didn't care about sleep anymore. Slurred talk revolved around big thank you's, cussing at the weather, and open disappointment that Andy's three jugs of moonshine had evaporated earlier in the evening. I tell you, I'm probably the luckiest guy on earth to have such wonderful people around me and be allowed to be a part of all this stuff that I truly, truly love.
Standing for hours is physically taxing; here Sara fills in as a Finish Judge.
And thus another Mountain Bike National Championship has come and gone, and I am secretly hoping that I will be allowed to return next year. I'd even bring a growler or two of good weather.


PS: Low and behold, right before the airplane door was closed in CLT, a gate agent came to my seat and gave me the totally unexpected news: "Mr. Heise, your upgrade just cleared. Would you like to move up to 4D?" I tell you, clean living ...