One long week in Winter Park, Colorado

Traditionally, July is the time of the Tour de France̱—and also the time for the USA Cycling National Mountain Bike Championships. After a COVID-induced hiatus in 2020, this year's edition was back with a vengeance, with a chockful schedule of races for riders as young as 8 and as old as 83 years. Stars and Stripes jerseys were given out in five disciplines (Cross-Country XC, Short Track STXC, Dual Slalom DS, Downhill DH, and Enduro), and numerous non-championship races rounded out the seven days of competition.

One of the youngest competitors during training ...

... and in competition at the end of her DH race

View from the DH start

After serving as Chief Referee for the past three editions (twice in Mammoth, CA, in 2017/18 and then in 2019 also in Winter Park) I had been assigned as Vice Chief for this year. That's not a demotion—as far as I kow it had been unprecedented to have the same CR three years in a row (and four times in five years, counting my 2015 stint in Snowshoe, WV), and it was time for somebody else to take on this awesome responsibility. I had been assigned as wingman for my old friend and mentee Uğur, who hails from Turkey but lives in the Minneapolis area, and it was great to work with and support him and see him succeed.

Uğur, our Chief Referee

Michael at the 80% line during the STXC

Dot, one of the best Finish Judges in the business

The timing trailer for the XC and STXC

Joe during DH training with some of the mountain crew, lead by Trip who gives the thumbs-up

I flew out on July 4, while normal people were getting ready to cook out and watch fireworks. At the Denver airport I met up with three other commissaires (Dot from the PNW, Julie from the Midwest, and Joe from Connecticut) and together we drove in our rental SUV ($500 for a week's rental appeared high  until a recent check for a weeklong rental in Seattle yielded $1,000+ price tags for the smallest of the small cars—if one can find one in this crazy post-apocalyptic travel climate!) up to Winter Park, about an hour-and-a-half west of Denver.

Altogether our crew of nine (for the Enduro we were helped by several more local officials) was put up in separate condos in the sprawling ski resort. With access to a vehicle, we went to the local Safeway on Sunday evening to fill up on groceries and adult beverages for the remainder of the week. (Truth be told, we had one evening when some of us managed to make a restocking run for beverages before everything closed down for the night.) With the exception of Joe and my dear friend Cath from Telluride all of us had worked National Championships before, and all of knew of the long, long hours ahead. However, Cath has been working with husband Jon untold events for their timing company, so of course she knew what was going to hit us. Only Joe, as the "apprentice," was a total newbie to this caliber of event, and he left with a new understanding of what it means to be a commissaire.

Racers' meeting at the end of each day

Finish area of the Downhill

Just off the path of the DH

My "office" in the run-out of the DH

As expected, the days were long and the nights were short. USAC expects its officials to work up to nine hours to get their daily pay, which varies for the various positions held by the different commissaires. After nine hours, overtime kicks in, amounting to $20 an hour and calculated in 15-minute increments. Well, you can do the math: When you're on the job at 6:00 a.m. you hit overtime at 3:00 p.m., and if you finally leave for the condo at 7:45 p.m., you've worked 13.75 hrs. And if you are Leslie, our rock-solid Secretary, those hours are even longer yet. I think I ended up with a total of 82 or 83 hours worked between Monday and the following Sunday.

The single Speed Cross-Country racers are always, well, colorful!

You can imagine that with such hours there's little, if any, after-work socializing. Most of us limped back to the room and gulped down some food, showered, and hit the rack. I preferred to feed myself sensibly, cooking every night and always preparing a fresh salad, but it also cut somewhat into my sleeping time. Still, I got a bit more rest than in years past, not only because of a slight decrease in hours worked (in 2019, as CR, I had clocked 90+ hrs) but mainly because I slept better—as Chief I had woken up at 3:00 a.m. worrying about the upcoming day and all the things that can go wrong.

This time around, these worries rested on Uğur's shoulders, and I did indeed sleep much better. Of course, things do go wrong, despite all the planning and foresight. Number sequences for the racers' bibs are incorrect, lightning causes hour-long course (and lift) holds that require shortened practice times or schedule changes, injured riders block the Dual Slalom course so that the entire competition takes so long that the medical staff announce that they can't provide services any longer after having been on the job for 14 hours, and an errant porta-potty door opens up to damage the gear shifters of the third-place Pro Men's Short Track contestant, who eventually finishes somewhere in 23rd or so place. In moments like this it's nice not to be the Chief.... 😉

My, my Alexis, how you've grown and matured!

At an event of this magnitude there will always be tense moments and worse. Much of that is not seen by the athletes, and their comments were almost all extremely positive. People were just SO ready to race again, after the pandemic! For me, who has worked these races for such a long time, it is always gratifying to run into old friends and acquaintances, or more often than not somebody will call out my name and fist-bump or hug me and I have no idea who that is! It's a bit embarrassing, but it certainly feels good to be remembered from all those starts and racers' meetings and discussions during all those years. Probably the most precious moments are those when a racer whom I have known since she was a girl in high school rides in the Pro ranks and does well and we can share a moment of joy afterward.

Overall, we were rather lucky with the weather, despite those lightning-induced holds that are to be expected in the high Rockies at this time of the year. We were spared any prolonged downpours, which can seriously affect a Downhill course and literally obliterate the Dual Slalom. The battle against the sun was much more serious this time around, but lots and lots of sunscreen prevented me from getting fried. For me, one of the big treats at mountain bike nats is getting to use the gondola or lift to get to the top of the Downhill start. It is a quiet time when the race recedes and one can see all that glorious mountain-scape all around. We do have wonderful jobs, and the long hours are easily forgotten when confronted with those vistas.

When I was in Colorado last year for my little bike vacation, wildfires were roaring in the vicinity and affecting air quality and turning blue skies milky brown. This year, the effects from fires weren't visible until the final two days. I don't know how close some of them were, but the American west is currently experiencing one of the worst wildfire situations ever. (Last week, Germany was devastated my torrential rains, another result of climate change.) We may have smelled and seen some of the smoke from the fires devastating hundreds of acres in Oregon and California, or it may have been conflagrations much closer to Winter Park. Thankfully, there was no direct detrimental effect on the race. 

Snacks in the officials' room

Late night dinner with Tour de France coverage as entertainment

Julie the commissaire (one of nine) with Leigh the announcer (one of three)

On Sunday we concluded the week of activity with the Pro Downhill and Short Track races. It was almost an early day, despite a long officials' debriefing that pushed all of us into two hours of overtime. An expensive meeting for USAC! That evening, in a gesture of appreciation of our work all week, the top brass of USAC invited us to a very casual dinner at the timing trailer, where the big kahuna himself, Chuck, grilled chicken and everybody loosened up with quality adult beverages. Bravo and thank you, USAC, because that's the way to foster esprit de corps and show appreciation for those who make all of this work.

Uğur

Valecia and Tom

V.

Leigh and moi

Amy, Julie, and Joe

Jon and Cath

Monday morning was another early one, and at 6:00 a.m. we were on the road to Denver International Airport for our respective flights home. Another successful National Championship was completed!

Jürgen

A weekend in Berlin

Welcome to my brother's garden paradise in Berlin

To close out the coverage of my almost month-long trip to Europe it's time to recall my weekend trip to Berlin. After returning from Austria and spending a couple of days in Freising I packed a few clothes and got on the train for the five-hour journey to Germany's capital. I had bought the ticket shortly after my arrival in Bavaria, and since the cost difference between First and Second Class was negligible I traveled in comfort. First Class comes with a free seat reservation, allowing me to select single seats with table access so that I could actually make good use of the train's Wi-Fi and get some work done.

ICE passengers waiting for a replacement ICE train in Nürnberg 

It used to be that the German railroad was almost as reliable as a Swiss chronometer, but those days are long gone. Deutsche Bahn is now synonymous with not only delays but also cancelled trains and of course missed connections. Just in case I had taken a train ahead of schedule to connect from Freising with my ICE bullet train in Munich, and that was a good decision because my original S-Bahn was delayed so that my connection would have been imperiled. The ICE runs once every hour from Munich to Hamburg, with a stop in Berlin (as well as few other cities in between), and the train that was supposed to have left an hour before mine simply had been cancelled because of a "Defekt," a mechanical. Visions of American Airlines came to mind ....

My brother's cozy dacha in former East Berlin

My train left about 25 minutes late. When we arrived an hour later in Nürnberg, the PA system told us that we all would have to disembark, go to the other side of the platform, and wait for a replacement train since our train had a problem. The reaction of my German co-passenger was one of general resignation but also a lot of sarcasm; people are used to this. It was a hot day with temperatures above 90F, and especially the newer models of the ICE trains are well-known to have climate control breakdowns, so nobody was too surprised at this point. However, when our replacement train arrived, everybody was stunned when the doors opened and a wave of passengers emerged, only to head across the platform to board the train that we had just exited! You should have heard the comments at that point!

You can't see my brother's place but the two inflatables on the right denote his dock

Eventually we arrived at Berlin Südkreuz, only about 20 minutes late. My brother, Bux, was waiting for me on the platform, and after not having seen one another for going on two years it was a warm and cordial reunion. Once we got out of the station the masks finally came off, not a second too early in the immensely torrid afternoon conditions in the middle of the city. (Germany requires KN-95 masks in pretty much all public settings, and those masks are much hotter and less breathable than the blue surgical masks that we've been seeing in the US.)

Bux and his son Jannick readying the boat

Because of the heatwave Bux had decided we would spend the weekend not in his apartment (no AC, no fans, no airflow, on the fourth floor without a lift in the middle of the built-up city) but rather in his small weekend dacha on the river Spree. Good choice! The small parcel of land he owns is located just a few kilometers from the new Tesla factory in Grünheide, an immense complex of new construction that will bring 10,000 jobs to the area but will also cause traffic jams, housing shortages, and other infrastructure problems. We passed by the Tesla factory before ending up in Köpenick where we stopped by the local Lidl to pick up some goodies for the weekend.

Jannick tending to the boats; the right one is his

Bux' little place is nothing extravagant; the small house (which is not equipped for winter-time stays) has appeared on the verge of collapse for as long as I can remember, and the garden is rather tiny (yet very private). But the property has access to the water, with a narrow dock for small craft. The trees provide shade, and the grass regulates temperature so much better than Berlin's asphalt and concrete landscape. In other words, it's an unpretentious oasis for a city denizen. There are two bedrooms, a tiny bathroom with a functioning toilet (just don't throw the paper in the commode), and a kitchen with a fridge, oven, and the basics one needs for a week or longer. The roof doesn't appear to leak, and the strange scratching noise in one of the walls stopped shortly after our arrival. There is comfortable garden furniture, a real gas grill, and a ladder to get in and out of the Spree. What else could one want?

Bux and his older son, Dennis

Friday night, over grilled goods and lots of beers, we caught up with each other's lives. On Saturday morning, Bux procured fresh bread from the bakery while I took a swim in the Spree before our leisurely breakfast. The property is located maybe 150 meters from the main channel, in a small sidearm that has much less traffic than the actual river. Early in the morning, very few motor craft putter by and only an occasional SUP or kayak will glide through the smooth waters. It appears that clothing is optional, and swimming in the soft-yet-tannic water in the buff is rather liberating. Bonus point: Just like in Austria, my hip liked the gentle sideways movement that accompanies the breaststroke, so more rehab work. Over the weekend I spent quite bit of time in the refreshing water and never took an actual shower.

Around noon, my two nephews, Jannick and Dennis arrived. Especially Jannick, who lives with Prader Willi Syndrome, gets very excited when his Onkel aus Amerika shows up. All four of us piled into Bux' inflatable that is powered by a 15-hp engine and, with Jannick at the helm, we spent several hours slowly cruising the numerous canals, lakes, and the river Spree proper. One of the highlights was stopping at the fishmonger's (official name is Müggelseefischerei) in the tiny village of Rahnsdorf and eating some freshly smoked. Damn, life can be so good.

The boys left after our excursion, and we spent another evening just hanging out. Thunderstorms had moved in, but under a pop-up canopy we were quite content and decimated more beer and wine. On Sunday, Bux took me on a longer excursion to several lakes that I had never seen. When I grew up in the late '50s, our family owned a tiny plot of land with a weekend dacha just a few hundred meters from where Bux now owns his place. (Bux wasn't born until after we had moved away from West Berlin about half a year before the wall was built and had settled in Schleiden, west of Cologne.) That was during the time that this part of Berlin was part of the DDR, better known as East Germany. We were very much limited in how far we could take our paddle boat since the Russian sector began just a few kilometers to the east, and even after the reunification of Germany I had never been to those areas when I had been in Berlin (at least not on the water; I had often ridden my bike in that general area when I visited my dad). Anyhow, it was really an interesting excursion that we took, and I had a great time.

On Monday morning Bux took me back to Bahnhof Südkreuz and I took another reliability-challenged ICE back to Munich and then the super-hot regional train that had been baking all day in the sun to Freising. No AC, none of the windows can be opened, and the KN-95 doing its best to suffocate you.... 

My time in Europe was coming to a close. I was able to snag a free COVID test that was needed for my transit in London and to reenter the US, got all my paperwork together, went on a few more rides, enjoyed a pig knuckle in Weihenstephan's Bräu-Stüberl, and had a last nice evening snack at one of the lakes around Freising. Sabine had started back at work on Monday after a weekend of sailing a race with friends on Lake Constance, and life started to normalize once again. On Thursday she took a break during her home office day and took me to the airport, and my 48-hour journey back to Texas started in earnest.

Pullinger Weiher from ground level ....

... and Pullinger Weiher from the air

Normally, it is a one-day trip from Munich to Lubbock, but with severely reduced airline schedules I had to spend the night somewhere along the way. The best alternative had been to book a direct flight from London to Los Angeles where I had secured a room close to the airport. (Of course, first there was the two-hour hop to London on British Airways, with better service and amenities than on the business class Flagship flight on AA across the Atlantic.) Friday morning it was time for LAX to DFW and then the final puddle jumper to Lubbock, where I arrived a little bit before six in the evening. I don't know how all of this would have played out in economy as even biz wasn't a cakewalk. My first post-pandemic trip to Europe as a non-citizen was in the books.

Leaving LA

Approaching home

And now I've been home for six days and have re-acclimated myself to the South Plains, just in time to jet up to Colorado on July 4 to work USAC's National Mountain Bike Championships next week. In the morning, I'll go for a ride with Smitty and David. Life continues to normalize itself.

Jürgen