Ute Valley Pro XCT: Colorado
Springs
This is where the meat went
bad. In retrospect, judging from the
blood, maybe it was just a little undercooked. In any case, it didn’t go down
well.
I did this race on a
whim. I happened to have the Saturday of
the event off of work; away from the beer temple, which is normally where bad judgments
are made. Fortunately, these bad judgments
just lead to more beer drinking, not pain.
This race was part of the Pro Tour, which only consists of 5 events all
summer, and the only stop in Colorado.
It was a chance to see the top U.S. pros in the sport compete at the
highest level, and race the same course as them. I barely made it down to Ute Valley Park in
time to pre-ride the course, about an hour before my race would start. Apparently, in my quest to become a pro, I still
haven’t figured out how to use an alarm clock, or just disregard it. In actuality it might take just as much
discipline to ignore the annoying morning rooster than to get up at 5am, and I
shall convince myself of the former. The
course was a 4.5 mile loop, consisting of everything from tight twisting
singletrack, sandy sections, loose rocky sections, technical slickrock climbs,
fast descents through rock fields, and one very technical descent that drops
about 30ft down rock faces. This was
definitely a course I could’ve spent a whole day pre-riding, not only because
there are so many lines to choose from, and finding the fastest is not easy,
but also because it is extremely fun!
Welcome back to REAL mountain bike racing! This course trumped all others I had been to
previously.
The race began in an odd
fashion. The Pro Tour is run by USA
Cycling, whom also supports the up-and-coming juniors in the sport. This meant that they are given precedent and
start at the front of the hundreds of other Cat1 riders. Organizers also decided to start the
singlespeed field with the 40-49 age group Cat1 riders. This was very odd, as we are usually started
directly behind the pros. So for the
first time I was downwind of about a hundred stinky sweating bike-fiends. It wasn’t the smell that bothered me so much
as the standing around for so long in an old-guy stew. Each group was started in 30-second
waves. Our wave, like the rest, started
with fury. In a race this short, 4 laps
of the 4.5 mile course, it is basically a sprint the entire way. As we made our way up the first climb, about ½-mile
long, I realized I would have some competition.
I was back in third for about ¼-mile before heading up front. The
exertion made me feel like I was going to lose my lunch, pushing with all my
effort and lung capacity. At the top of
the climb came an extremely fast descent, which made its way through a blind
rock section. Right before this section,
as I feathered my brakes, I was passed by a singlespeeder who not only didn’t
touch his brakes, but proceeded to air out the entire section altogether. He knew something I didn’t, or just had
bigger balls; maybe both. Shortly
thereafter came the nasty descent down 4 or 5 rock faces. As I, along with just about everyone else,
slowed down and picked our lines carefully,
the same singlespeeder took a different route, passing about 6 riders
where there was no line, not slowing down as he Geronimo-ed down and off the
rocks. It was an impressive
display. I wasn’t worried about his
crazed antics, as I knew I could catch him on the climbs and flats. Sure enough I caught him, but I was too swept
up by a fast singlespeeder. This was all
before hitting a long stretch of climb of roots, rocks, and steep and technical
slickrock. Upon hitting this section, I
saw about 30 riders ahead, all struggling to make their way to the top; mostly
the juniors. And this created a big
problem for me and the rest. I made it
up without putting a foot down, but with about half the speed as I would’ve
liked. At that point I and the
singlespeeder ahead made sure to get around a lot of the traffic. We pushed on through the first lap, and he
gained a little gap on me as I struggled to pass riders in bad spots, where he
seemed to know where to push and get ahead and where he could tone it back a
bit. But going into the second lap we
had some clear air and now we could really push. I was feeling good in 2nd place
and confident that I could catch the leader.
Then, about a third of the way through the 2nd lap, my
contact decided to migrate away from my eyeball, and jump for freedom. Luckily, in a heroic snatch, my eyelid caught
it and hung on. I decided, remembering
how fast and dangerous some of the descents were, that I had to stop and try to
put it back in. As I stood on the side of the trail, dry dusty contact in my
mouth, trying frantically to put it back in my bloodshot eye, I was passed by
many-a-steaming mountain biker. Finally
I got back on the bike, but my mind and moral were not back in it yet. I was discouraged, knowing in a race this
fast that it would be difficult for me to regain some of the spots I had
lost. But I kept pushing on, and
eventually got back to full form, passing riders and feeling that I was making
some good progress. Then came the third
lap, and ugliness ensued. I had just
passed about 10 riders on the nasty uphill slickrock slog, and began one of the
fast and sketchy, pick-your-best-line, descents. I was going along at 20-some mph, flying
through rock fields, launching off of boulders and such. Then came a set of stair-step boulders, about
1ft drop each. I launched off of the
first but somehow caught my front wheel at an odd angle on the second, which
catapulted me through the air, leaving bike behind. I got up quickly, noticing that nothing was
broken besides my bloody shattered sunglass (not a good sign), and began, very
slowly, moving again. There was pain all
over, but surprisingly none of it was too terrible, considering I had just
taken the hardest spill in my mountain biking career. After this incident I totally conceded. I felt extremely shaken up, and couldn’t care
less about racing anymore. I finished
the last lap-and-a-half at a snail’s pace.
 |
| Sketchyness. A lot steeper and hairier than it looks. |
This was my ugliest race
yet. This was the most fun and most real
race yet. Such is the duality of
mountain biking. Sometimes you don’t
have the best day RACING, but the RIDING can be incredible. Sometimes everything goes wrong, but it can
still be fun. I realized the next day
that I had split my helmet almost in two, and had suffered a minor
concussion. But still, what a fun race
venue.
Later on we watched the real
spectacle, the Pro Men race. They were
spectacular to watch, a real eye-opener for me.
They attacked the sketchy descents and boulder sections without
remorse. They didn’t even think to touch
their brakes. They picked the smartest
and fastest lines, and barreled over everything in sight. It was clear that they knew the course well,
but more than that it really showed their expertise in bike-handling and
ability. There is something special
about the top-level mountain bikers, in that the highest level roadie couldn’t
hang on a course like this. It is an
awesome mix of power, endurance, speed, skill, ability, and BALLS!
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