This was a memorable race because I had somehow worked my way back from being a very out-of-shape guy a couple years earlier to actually winning a race. A little less than two years before this race I placed 64th in the beginner class at a race in San Jose. Now I once again stood on the top step of the podium in the sport class, and it felt pretty damn good. I had last won a race back in 1987, which felt like a lifetime before. It was a full circle that took seven crazy years to complete.
None of my Adventure Mountain Bikes teammates wanted to race this one, so I would fly the colors solo. This also meant I didn't have the luxury of riding in the team van, but they still paid my entry fee just the same. My dad accompanied me to the race instead and took all the pictures. We would later stay in his Incline Village condo for the rest of the weekend.
The race took place at the Donner Ski Ranch just west of Lake Tahoe. The course was one typical of what we encountered in the Tahoe area: big climb, rolling alpine singletrack, descent to the finish. I believe the laps were six miles each and we did four laps.
I warmed up for a while and pulled up to the starting line with about ten minutes to go. A few younger guys turned around and sized me up but said nothing. I put my head down and started to focus on my race when I heard the phrase "piece of shit" come out of one guy's mouth. The other two started laughing. It was then I noticed these guys had all the latest and greatest stuff at the time: Rock Shox, boutique frames and lots of purple and blue anodized parts.
I was on my Team Marin, a bike I actually liked. It was still mostly stock, and quite drab in its silver and black colors, but the Shimano parts were solid and reliable. It even came with a few weight-saving parts like a titanium crank spindle, so it was deceivingly light at only 23 pounds.
One finally had enough balls to turn around and say something to the effect of, "You're never going to survive on that bike, man. This course it brutal." Again, they laughed. He was referring to my rigid fork, of course.
Up to this point I had been riding for 10 years. I had raced and ridden on some of the most technical terrain imaginable. I wasn't concerned about the course or my fork at all.
When the race started I was pretty pissed off. I rode right through the field to the front, fueled by the anger.
It didn't take long before I was all alone. There's always a risk of blowing up when you go hard from the start, but that never happened.
I finished the first lap without encountering anything "brutal" in the least. There were a few boulders and slabs up top, but overall the course was ridiculously smooth.
The second time up the climb was my fastest. I felt really good, and the 7,000 foot base elevation didn't seem to be bothering me in the least.
I slowed slightly for laps three and four, but I still rode strong and there was never really any doubt in my mind. I knew I had a huge lead and a mechanical or crash was my only remaining opponent.
I cruised in for the victory, completing my 24-mile solo breakaway.
One of the guys who laughed at me finished third, so I really enjoyed standing next to him at the awards.
He didn't have a whole lot to say about my shitty bike. In fact he wouldn't even look at me.
When the pictures were developed, I gave a print to Brian at Adventure Mountain Bikes. He actually put it in a frame and it hung on the wall where it stayed until the shop closed a couple years later, which was pretty cool.
Later.
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