How do you top a week in Utah? Well, you go a little farther west and work a race just 45 minutes away from Reno, at the beautiful ski resort of Northstar, California. Barely 36 hours home I was back on a plane, heading west.
If only everything had been as smooth as writing this is. You may not believe the story that is about to unfurl, but it is true. I had a brainfart of epic proportions when I checked in at the American Airlines counter in Lubbock--almost nobody there, small-talk banter with the check-in agent, taking my two checked pieces of luggage to the TSA screeners, waltzing through security with TSA pre-check printed on my boarding pass. no problem. With about 50 minutes until my flight to Phoenix I settle into the work area that the airport provides and, focused on my upcoming races, hammer out a few e-mails. When the incoming plane arrives at the gate I pack up my laptop--and then, holy St. Moses, where is my rollaboard? Really, where is it? Amazing how quickly the mind works, re-living an insignificant period of our lives, one that we thought we'd never revisit. Even while racing back to the TSA check-point I realize that I had never put the Away bag on the screening belt. Back to the gate, how much time do I have before you close the doors? Enough to leave the secure area--so, off to the check-in counter, no bag, where the hell is my bag, somebody must have seen my bag, dammit, what an idiot I am. The TSA line now is 25 deep and I blatantly jump the line (nobody complains), explain to the TSA guy that I've lost my bag, he points me to a courtesy phone that's directly connected to Airport OPs, no, we don't have a bag here nor have we had any reports. My heart totally sinks.
With two minutes to spare I make it onto the plane,
sans bag, of course. My heart is pounding, thoughts race through my mind, how can I do my job without my uniform? Hell, I don't even have any underwear except what I wear. I'm sitting in 1A, in First, and talk incoherently to the fellow across the aisle who commiserates and offers that there are more good people in the world than thugs and that the bag will show up. And with nothing else to do I sit back and nurse G&Ts and worry my head off.
In Phoenix, I immediately call Lubbock Airport OPs again, in the futile hope that the bag have been turned in. I'm told to call Airport Police to report my bag as stolen. I talk to a friendly officer, Heath (first or last name I never figured out), who hears me out, takes notes, and tells me he'll call me back ASAP. Fifteen minutes later my phone rings, and Officer Heath asks a few more questions about the bag, to truly identify it, and then he tells me that the bag is in Phoenix, on a plane bound for San Diego. It turns out, the gentleman sitting across the aisle with his young son and his wife and infant child in the row behind him checked in shortly after I had. Somehow, confusion reigned and neither he nor his wife (or so I presume--maybe just two good friends traveling together?) realize that they check a bag that is not theirs to San Diego, my bag, the bag that is patiently sitting right where I left it at the counter when I rolled my checked bags to the screeners.
Officer Heath--who had gleaned all of this info through reviewing security tapes and then talking with the AA check-in personnel--gives me the phone number of my fellow traveller. I call him, but he is already on the plane to San Diego and about to leave Phoenix, but he promises to take care of things once in SAN. Oh, by the way, what does your bag look like, he wants to know. Talk about a tragicomedy.
To bring all this to a happy conclusion, traveler X retrieves my bag, talks to American personnel who put the bag on a flight to LAX and then onward to Reno where it arrives around midnight, long after I had made it to Northstar. In the morning, my benefactor provided me with a baggage claim number, and as I had to go back to the Reno airport anyhow to pick up a rental car I was reunited with my bag after less than 24 hours of separation yet more extra heartbeats than are good for one's health. OMG, have you ever heard of an odyssee like that? Footnote: Upon my return Monday night two officers stand in the Lubbock terminal, and I approach them to ask whether they happen to know Officer Heath. Of course, he was standing in front of me, and the selfie speaks volumes.
On to my otherwise GREAT time in the sierras! Thanks to the nature of my work I had some spare time on Friday and Saturday for two long rides--100 miles on Lake Tahoe and through the Truckee river valley and then some. Even on Thursday--after retrieving bag and rental car--there was time left over to explore the greater Northstar area on my Ritchey Outback. I had been here back in 2010 as Chief Referee for our Collegiate Mountain Bike National Championships, and so I knew how beautiful this area is. This time the race was the Enduro World Series, Round 7, and my role was not that of a referee.
As a little bonus, the organizer had provided housing in a very nice condo that I shared with USAC's Justin and Ben, the latter of whom I had roomed with last year in Missoula. Justin and I, of course, had last seen each other a few weeks back in Winter Park. We all had private bedrooms, but being able to cook together and knock back a few beers on the porch, looking at the forest, was a real plus.
Really, what was not to like about this assignment? My ride on Thursday took me across Brockway Summit and then back down to King's Beach, on Lake Tahoe. Oh, it is so beautiful here! I rode the eight or so miles to Tahoe City where the Truckee drains from the lake and carves a beautiful valley down to the town of Truckee. Lots of cycling lanes and bike paths make riding out here a pleasurable experience. In Truckee--wouldn't you know it?--I just
had to check out to new brewpubs before completing my 47-mile loop, all of it above 6,000 feet of elevation.
Friday's ride could have taken me around the entire lake, but at 72 miles that's a pretty long ride and I had to keep an eye on the clock, so I decided on an out-and-back along the lake shore, starting at Kings' Beach. The vistas were magnificent and I certainly got my fill of climbing as the road undulates more than you'd think when looking at the map. No brewpubs that day, but I made it back early enough to use my gondola and ski-lift privileges to go up onto the mountain where the first day of the competition was going on. Another great day!
The bulk of my actual work was done on Sunday, and all went smoothly and without issues. It's always great to work with organizers who are supportive and provide the resources that I need. In return, I try to be as unobtrusive and maintenance-free as possible, and usually everything clicks. The race was extremely exciting, especially in the Elite Men's category where the margin of difference in six timed downhill sections came down to less than one second between First and Second!
Monday came much too quickly--I could have easily spent a little more time in this paradise! But since my flight didn't leave Reno until 2:26 pm I was able to take things easy, get most of my paperwork done, stop by FedEx, and then have enough time for brewpub number 308, the unremarkable Silver Peak Brewery. A couple of uneventful flights and then I was back in the Hub City, where temps had reached 109F that day. Give me a week, and I'll be ready to run away again!
Jürgen
Best thing about this travel post is riding a boat and enjoying whole long day trip. Nice post.
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