Brian Head, UT ( NORBA #6)... ( republished )

While looking through my "My Documents" folder today, i found this post, from after Brian Head this year, that i never ended up posting.( fiction/nonfiction? who knows?) so, better late than.... Late Thursday night the wind was hammering the window with falling snow and hail. The weather outside, on top this 11,000 foot peak, was a brisk 27 degrees and miserable. This weather was not unusual conditions for this ski resort in northern Utah; it was, however, rare that they see such winter like conditions in mid August. As most surly snuggled up under the covers and thought about the traffic for tomorrow mornings commute to the office, I lay nerve racked and anxious to take on one of the most physically demanding sporting events one can undergo. Awaiting me in the morning was the start line of round 6 of the United States Nation Championship Mountain Bike Series, here, at Brian Head Mountain, Utah. Upon being woken up by the rustling of a team mate looking through his bag for an extra layer of anything warm, I immediately went over to pull the shades back on the window to survey the state of the land. Not much had changed in the 9 hours I had been resting, the sky still stood dark and cloudy, the air was sharp and cold, and the wind still cared a floury of snow in every direction. The thought of going back to bed didn’t cross my mind for even a second. It was days like this, that I had dreamed about while suffering through those long, painful rides in the cold of winter back in Boston. It was days like this, that I waited for all year, to have the opportunity to find the limits of my body, and see how close I could push to them. I ate my Oatmeal and peanut butter, packed my gear into the car, and headed out for the long drive up the mountain. The starting line was filled with a common feeling of unease. The snow had stopped and the sun was just beginning to poke through rising tempters to the mid 30’s. Before I had time to finish thinking of how much this was about to hurt, BANG, the gun was off and so was the hungry field of 100 or so men. The pack climbed strait up a long gravel logging road to start things off. The group was strung out what seemed like a mile long; everyone following the same smooth tracks in the road, left behind by the tire tracks of the logging trucks. By the time we hit the trails up top, it had broken up into small groups of two or three riders, all looking like they had just crossed the finish line of a marathon, only 30 minutes into this three hour event. I found myself in a group of three battling out for the last few spots in the top ten. The snow was still present on the trails at the higher elevations, and as we began to encounter the long descents, the cold was beginning to get to people. At first it was just a numbing sensation in the fingers and toes, and then the skin on your face and exposed legs began to sting and turn red from the rushing of blood to the area. Before long in these conditions, the entire body tempter begins to drop; the mussels seas up and cramp, your lungs constrict, and you begin to fear for you’re life, rightfully so. The mud and slush being kicked in your face made it impossible to see through glasses, so we were forced to ride with glasses pushed down on your nose, head turned a bit to the side, with a squint. Almost suddenly, riders began to quit left and right. Pulling out at the feeding zones along the course and stripping down from there soaked clothes in the closest heated car. I began to pass racers along the course, crouched in a ball, shivering, as the early effects of hypothermia began to set in. My six layers of clothing that took such a heavy mocking 2 hours ago, and two thousand feet lower, where now the only thing keeping me fit to carry on. I had moved up, by default, into the top five; podium territory. With what looked on paper to be the easiest section of the race, the remaining 7 miles now looked to be hell in the form of a race course. A seventeen-hundred foot descent off the top of the mountain brought tight, rocky, slick single track that demanded the utmost concentration and alertness to maneuver successfully. With another racer in near sight ahead, my judgment went out the window and my instincts as a racer took over me. I sat back, took a breath, and let r’ rip. I was flying over rock and root at well over dangerous speeds; aspen trees flashing by, narrowly missing my face almost every time. One or two, or maybe three, crashes later, I had caught the place ahead of me. Body bashed, bruised, and frozen, I wouldn’t notice the blood dripping the length of my left leg until 30 minutes after the race had concluded. I took the last 2 minutes of down hill before the finish at a more normal pace. I had dropped the man I had been chasing, and knew there was no chance of moving up any further with such little time remaining. As I hit the pavement, 200 meters from the line, tears took over and I was hit by an overwhelming wave of emotion. 4th place, announced Larry Seagal over the loud speakers,” Way to bring it home, Colt!” (Of the 113 men that started that day, only another 11 would finish after me.) I had done it. I had found my limit, pushed it, and rode right past it. I looked into the eyes of quitting, and told it to shove off. Nothing could have stopped me this day, or any other day for that matter. If this style of adventure racing has taught me one thing, it’s the importance of finishing. I train to be the best, every day of the month, every month of the year. I push my self further then I’ve ever pushed, and then repeat, so that in circumstances like this, I find the conditions familiar and bearable. When Friends and family ask how the race went, I will tell them it was hard, and I took 4th place. They will congratulate me, and tell me not too worry, ill win it next time. I then thank them, turn, and laugh under my breath. If only they knew, I say to myself in amazement; if only they knew. Id be as pleased with myself had I won or had I placed 70th, its not finishing first that makes it a successes for me, it’s finishing. ....im not really sure what i just wrote actualy happened. my memory from that weekend is a bit... fuzzy. did i say >__<, shoot, what i ment was, >_____<... live with it. Timo and I started the trip with a few days in Las Vegas..( hence the Elvis shades). Good Times. I was not the only one who thought he was cool in Vegas.good riding in Vegas. Minus the fire. ( we didn't start it*)have I mentioned, how cool Tim is.Myself, and the Legend.How could we resist..Vegas was fun, but Brian Head is what we came for.Sager. (" he looks good, I mean really good. Hey everyone, come and see how good he looks!", quote: Anchor Man)Pre-race. It only got worse from here.When the start is at 10,000 ft. And your already freezing. Climbing to 12 will only make it worse.freezing temps, one snow storm, one way to close of an encounter with a tree, and i made it to the finish.this, is what hypothermia looks like in spandex at 20 mph.Tim came in shorty afterward, looking somewhat more., umm,, in tact.I was DEAD after this race.. Notice the shirt I choose to put on incase I do literally die on the way back to the hotel. ( even when delirious, I can still think of Gorham*)

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