Cycling Blogs - Kathryn LaPointe

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Vehicle profiling.

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Guilty.

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Last year in Santa Ynez, campers were separated on arrival. Multiple signs directed downhillers to the south end of the lot, XC folks to the north. The Cytomax crowd peered warily, and from a safe distance, at the gravity boys. Who stoked their bonfires, quaffed beer from cans, and sported cowboy hats fashioned from cardboard Bud Light cases.

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For this year’s sleepover, I pulled in Saturday afternoon to find a newly desegregated parking lot. Spandex or baggy, we now had equal tent pitching rights anywhere in the earwig and chuckhole infested meadow.

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I nosed hopefully into the spot between a deep red Honda and an RV.

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Judging by the size of the tiny purple bike, and motorized Barbie jeep, the residents of the toy trailer would be silent by eight p.m. And the shiny new Element? Maybe we could swap nutrition tips before an early bedtime.

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Minivan parked safely in the sedate zone, I headed out to preride the nine mile lap. The wind nearly blew me into the barbed wire fence on top of the ridge. Better than last year’s scorcher, though.

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Also new for this year: cows. I’ve ridden three Chamberlain Ranch events, but I’ve never seen ruminants on the trail before. The first couple were cute. Less charming were the grumpy ones with menacingly curved horns that only shuffled aside at the very last minute before impact.

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I returned from my course preview to find two gentlemen hoisting their sixteen-inches-of-travel rigs on the back of the Element. My neighbors wore oversized shirts emblazoned with swear words, accessorized with the same kind of shoes my nine-year-old son covets. The extra bike rack grooves were stuffed with crushed Coors containers.

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Sigh.

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Before I went to register, I smiled at them and asked them to guard my car. A faded ‘95 Windstar with an unrepaired windshield crack and missing rear hubcap. I had left San Diego in a hurry, and didn’t bother to remove the child safety seats, plural. Oh, yes, oozing with coolness.

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At the Team Big Bear tent, I signed up for the master’s women cross country race. When the young woman behind the table double checked that I was racing Cat 1, I hesitated. No, I want the poser category. I mean, yes. Despite some decent times last year, my upgrade to expert has resulted in regular drubbings this season.

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At Bonelli I overheated, at Fontana got sidelined by the entire and enormous field of expert men passing me on the single track, at Sagebrush was unprepared for a surprise run up to Mt. Pinos that got added at the starting line.

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Rhetorical question: how many ways are there to make “last finisher” race reports interesting?

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Someone has to be last and, since that will apparently be me for the duration, logic dictates that every other person out there has a better result, and better story.

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I decided to interview racers completely at random. Starting to my left.

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Brad and Bryan joked that they’d had to fend off people checking out my car. However, their straight from the box Coleman tents, when they weren’t blowing away, were the actual attraction, since guys kept stopping by to congratulate Brad on his win.

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Score!

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Assuming a level of social competence I didn’t actually feel, I interrupted, “Uh, hey, uh, I’m trying to write race reports for a new cycling website. Do you mind if I interview you?” I confessed that I knew nothing whatsoever about downhill racing.

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Brad Reece, from Irvine, veteran gravity rider and former skateboard pro, patiently explained to me the circumstances of his victory.

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After taking second at Sea Otter, here he notched first place in the 35-39 Cat 2 downhill, coming in more than ten seconds faster than the nearest finisher, with almost a minute on the rest of the field. In the two run format, he not only had the best combined time, but the fastest finishes for each go round. Go down?

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“The wind was definitely a factor,” he allowed. In cross country, I know that control and speed come from staying in contact with the trail. So the same stiff breeze that is so welcome twenty miles on in an endurance race pushes a downhiller off his line, especially when the drops launch him into space.

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Brad described his intimacy with the off course bushes, “You think you’re going to land in one spot, and then you end up somewhere else. You have to mitigate for that.”

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Did he just say “mitigate”? In his other life, Bryan works in IT.

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On his second run, he snapped his chain.

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He’s says he’s profited from clinics with Eric Carter and Rich Houseman, because he was able to wish his way to the bottom, again eclipsing all comers.

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I slowly became aware of the importance of this achievement as the afternoon wore on.

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His friend Bryan offered me a Guinness, and I joined them in watching dual slalom. While Brad and Bryan extended kindness in my direction, they mercilessly heckled the guys, and one brave woman named Nancy, making their way down the red and blue lanes.

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“He’s catching you!” they chanted at guys doing solo runs. “Get some!” They were on a nickname basis with each competitor, “Pinky, Spunky, EC,” and discussed the tactics in equally opaque terms. What is a “tranny?”

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“It’s really about trust,” Brad offered, as he and Bryan recounted their attempts to master the course the night before, “you have to believe in yourself.” Some guy eventually did clear all four moguls. The athleticism, acrobatic skill, and outright huevos took my breath away.

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As we stood there in the waning light, more people approached Brad, asking about his broken chain.

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“How did you make it down?”

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He demonstrated a pump and wiggle move that he dubbed “the peepee dance.”

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I finished my beer and, before I was tempted to accept a second one, made my excuses and my way down the hill.

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Lying in my tent, legs propped on my cooler, reading Omnivore’s Dilemma, I repented of my cycling discipline stereotypes.

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The next day, I lined up for my three laps, twenty-seven miles, and fifteenish hills. “You’re gonna be out there forever,” Tom warned.

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Despite how long it took, I’m enormously proud of how hard I rode. Because of an unusually small field, I ended up in third place. Bonus points for attendance?

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A broken chain can be replaced in the time it takes to hand over the cash, but the level of fitness and experience I need will take years to acquire.

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Even though he meant it in regard to slalom jumps, I’m taking Bryan’s downhill advice. If success is fueled by commitment, I wouldn’t bet against me.