Sun, clouds, wind, smoke, lightning, rain ...

... and even a bit of white dusting on top of the surrounding mountains: That was the way the environment played with us at this year's SoHo Bikefest in the beautiful Heber Valley, just south of Park City, Utah. We got a little bit of everything, and at the end of the three-day event only one race, the Elite Men's XCO, had to be shortened because of lightning strikes less than five miles away from the venue.

Even during our final approach into SLC on Wednesday afternoon of last week it was obvious that the many wildfires that are raging in the state are affecting visibility and air quality. The afternoon sky was brown, giving an ominous orange-yellowish tint to the usually pristine mountainscape. During my Lyft ride to the Homestead Resort, where we were housed this year, I started to wonder whether we'd actually be able to race. Earlier communications from race director Josh had painted a somber picture in regard to air quality, and everything depended on wind direction and possible precipitation to maybe clear out the atmosphere.

A few miles before reaching Midway, where the Homestead is located, it started to sprinkle and then pour, and I could not get the words "acid rain" out of my head. I settled into my room (the Homestead is undergoing a massive upgrade project and will become a Marriott resort next year, and the digs were showing much improvement over what their condition was when I last stayed here at least half a decade ago) and spent an hour or so sitting on my porch, listening to the rain and hoping for the racing conditions to improve.

The next morning came bright and sunny and with pristine blue skies.

We all knew that conditions could change at the whim of the wind and other factors, and so the group of us stakeholders (RD Josh, PCP Jim from Canada, Bill the "trail" guy, Rebecca from the medical team, Justin as the USAC joker, and I as ACR) came up with a plan that was going to set thresholds for the Air Quality Index and our response to the different levels, ranging from "all systems go" to "we're calling it a day." Tobin, our secretary, sent out hourly updates in the following days, and I am happy to report that the measured AQI never came close enough to affect riders' health. Follow science. Don't just go by what it looks like.

Of course, there was the racing. Aside from the Pan-American Championships in 2024 (which I worked not as a member of the commissaires' crew but rather as a DCO) that may have seen more participants, this year's race probably drew the largest crowd ever: We had 1,525 individual starters, amateurs and professionals, age 12 all the way up into the geriatric categories. That's a lot of folks, yet we somehow managed to not screw up too often. Nothing like a well-oiled crew of officials who know what they're doing.

Our days were fairly long, Saturday taking the cake with us being at the venue a little more than 12 hours. I really have to shout out RD Josh and his crew of volunteers who, knowing that we were going to be on the mountain past beyond most local eateries' last call, had arranged for delivery of a fabulous Indian carry-out meal that we enjoyed in the admin building that will be the central point of the 2034 Winter Olympics Nordic events, precisely 32 years after the 2002 Salt Lake Games. My, how time flies.

I continue to feel extremely connected to the sport, maybe more so than in years past. Getting to work with the local organization and the many friendly volunteers is just as gratifying as interacting with known entities such as the team managers for Booger, Orange Seal, or Team Big Bear. There are always those big hugs, the friendly high-fives, the appreciative "howdies" followed by that in-the-know smile. We all form an amazing tribal community of which racers and parents, officials and team managers are all integral parts. 

Our last day ended with a few cold ones, poured by none other than Luke, a 1992 and 1994 Olympian who is now the the GM of SoHo. Initially, our group  of commissaires had talked about a final dinner, but with Cyndi and Kris splitting—Utah residents—and Justin leaving for an SLC airport hotel those plans fizzled. Twenty-five years of officiating have taught me to always have a stash of emergency rations, both on the food and the beverage front, and so I enjoyed a last night on the porch while the temps were plummeting for the night, contributing to the aforementioned dusting of the surrounding Wasatch mountains.

Our crew, from left, Justin, Cyndi, Kris, Tobin, Jennifer, Jim, et l'auteur

My flight home didn't leave until Monday afternoon, and packing and catching a Lyft back to SLC were relaxed, muy tranquilo. With the nowadays almost obligatory flight delays and the final Uber ride home, I called it a race weekend around 0:30 on Tuesday morning. Unpacking, doing laundry, grocery shopping, riding my bike, going through the accumulated mail, and repacking took up most of my daytime hours for the next three days, while the evenings were reserved for Sandy time.

In less than about 15 hours I'll be on a plane to Missouri for the next adventure.

Jürgen