Congrats Adam, You Make Me (and the US) Proud!

After recently returing from the US, I took advantage of the local Olympic coverage to make a note of when the Mountain Biking Race would be held.... "August 24th, 2008, NBC"

"Sweet, I'll just watch it live online while it unfolds!" (now that I'm in CZ, we are only 6 hours difference from Beijing versus 12 hours for Americans to watch it live. Suddenly I see on Yahoo that states,

Absalon defends his gold in men's mountain biking

I clicked on the link only to discover that the race was TODAY (or while I was is Management Informations Systems class). Errrrrrrrrrrrrr hhhhhherrrrrrhhheerhhr!

To describe WHY I placed sooo many "r's" and "errr's" in the last phrase, I will give you a bit of history.

Back in 1994, I was returning from a hockey game (I was a hockey player for 14-or-so years) and we stopped at McDonald's for a post-game feast. The line was long so I picked up the newspaper:

It read, "Sunday River [local ski resort] to offer lift-service mountain biking"

I have been downhill skiing since I was 3 and I had a friend who was crazy-into biking and just bought a mountain bike for $1500 ($1400 more than my max price). Seeing the "rentals available" in the ad, I ripped it out, threw down a few Chicked Nuggets and called him the next day.

Heading down a ski mountain on expert singletrack is not recommended for your first mountain bike ride from what I've heard... but after crashing 8 times in the first 200 yards, I LOVED IT! I legitimately sucked at something but still had fun... sign me up!

I cut some trails behind the house, got a bike, entered a few races, and the rest was history.

On the way, during a mundane high-school Art class, I was discussing my new sport with one of my hockey buddies describing how I had just done my first "major" race and entered into the 'Sport' category which was a level higher than the Beginners. Just then my art teacher said, "you know, my son is getting into mountain biking. He's just a beginner but he won a race last weekend. He'll be going to race 'XYZ' this weekend." I went to the race. We met and although he was a few years younger, we got to be good friends, meeting each week at some random rustic location in Maine for a race where if we won, we could bring home luxurious treasures such as a waterbottle or t-shirt... but if the race was 'big time' we could win a tire or something cool like that.

I raced on a 1995 GT Pentara while my new friend Adam had just gotten a new chrome Giant. We were pretty cool.

Both of us won, Adam moving up more quickly than I, although most of the time we were in differnt age classes, but we still hung out before and after the races.

Eventually, Adam had some VERY good finishes and got attention from the US Olympic Committee when he won a US Junior championship while he was in high school and I was in college (no longer a junior, but at this time, he was faster than me).

Adam joined the US Olympic Development Team, "DEVO" which was very high-profile at the time since it allowed young kids to go head-to-head against the likes of Travis Brown and Ned Overend. We still met at big races as I began to work my way up the mountain biking hierarchy (although much more slowly) and enjoyed spending time together making numerous Maine jokes while we waited for results amidst a national crowd of elite mountain bikers.

By the time I had gotten to the Expert and Semi-Pro level of Mountain Bike Racing, Adam had already won a National Championship or two... or three in the Junior and Espoir (under 24 or so, I forget now).

I joined up on the best collegiate mountain bike team on the East Coast and we won an East Coast Championship in my first year. We continued to win and eventually Adam joined that ackward age group known as 'college students'. Debating whether to pursue a career in mountain biking or try his hand at college life, Adam, to his credit, gave it the 'ol college try. That year, we got in touch and met during Thanksgiving Break at my house for some riding. There is a large slick-granite mountain near my house accessible by singletrack and fireroads. We decided to do that plus the 2+ miles of singletrack that I had built behind my house.

I distinctly remember climbing the face of the mountain (24-27% grade) [that means 'wicked steep' to you non-cyclin' types] and he slowly started pulling away from me... I was so frustrated when he got to the top (it's a 4 or 5 minute climb), 15 or so seconds before me. We had a good time though. He is a super guy, very easy-going and not "full of himself" like some cyclists or athletes are with half his talent.

We met again later in a race with a long uphill section and sketchy descents. Adam was in the Pro category but I was still in the Semi-Pro/Expert category so we didn't depart at the same time. I hammered up the hill as hard as I could go each lap and at one point I saw a fan with a stopwatch who was timing people...

"That's one of the fastest times up this section!" he said. Knowing Adam was in the race, that meant something. I began my to tackle my weakness... sketchy New England singletrack descents. After 10 minutes or so I heard someone behind me. Knowing the people in the race (maybe a few hundred) and the start times of the Pro's, I knew it was Adam.

We exchanged "Hey man"'s and I let him by since I knew I could benefit from his direction during the upcoming singletrack downhill. I did my best to say with him but it almost seemed like he was gone in an instant!

"Was I that bad?"
"How come I can't ride faster down that? I know I tried"
"Damn it!"

Adam won the Pro race and I won the Semi-Pro/Expert race by 11 minutes. (I didn't know I was so far ahead... otherwise I would have... I don't know... picked up chicks along the way to victory... errr... chicks think cyclists are dorks, and they are right. Well, I could have at least gotten a nice water or something.

Fast forward several years later and I'm reading a synopsis of Adam's chances in Beijing for 2008. His coach, a former pro, was interviewed on the front of the biggest state-wide newspaper and the quote that stood out in my mind was:

"When Adam goes downhill, no one in the world can keep up with him."

By 2008, I had been disillusioned enough by both mountain and later road biking that I sought out a [gasp], "real job". I no longer race or officially train but I have started to ride more [in somepart, thanks to my efforts to keeping up with the crazy mileage guzzlers on BikeJournal.com!]. But this statement that confirmed that no one in the world could hold his wheel on a downhill descent, including me!, put me at ease and let me enjoy the true talent that Adam has developed and strengthened over the years.

You may be thinking, "Cross-Country MTB'ers are lame, DH guys have way more skill". Well acutally, I remember once when we had a big XC race on Sunday morning at a remote location in the mountains so we all arrived on Saturday. Adam just decided he would enter the Downhill race, just for fun you know. Somehow, his points in XC, or some other loophole, allowed him to race in the professional downhill category. He went head-to-head against some of New England's to professional downhillers who had crazy downhill specific bikes that sucked up rocks and bumps like a tour bus. Adam just rode a plain old bike (or maybe someone felt sorry for him and lent him a dual-suspension bike for a run down the mountain).

Adam ended up beating every downhill cyclist in all of New England and New York just because he thought he would "try it". Never did he brag about it or say how awesome he is to win National Championships or downhill races simply by shear skill... he just talks to you with amazement as if you had won the race as well.

Never in all my years of sports have I ever met such a well-rounded athlete who keeps things in perspective, doesn't overinflate his accomplishments, and is well spoken about his future and in front of the media.

If there is a true, clean, good-hearted athlete that you want to route for but can't seem to find in ... emmm, say the last 8 Olympics, I don't think you'd be disappointed in routing for Adam. Based on his performance on the bike and his handling with life and media, I know he will excel in life... as an MBA student, he'd be one of my first choices when going into a corporate venture... you just can't teach that kind of work ethic and poise.

Congrats on a great ride Adam, lets hook up back at SkiRack, Waldo, or geez, even Eaton some day.

Lesser-Known Olympians [.. at least I didn't know HE was an Olympian] ... plus a tale yet to be told.

So I was perusing the Yahoo Olympic website yesterday (during Management Information Systems class... errr.. I mean, my "free time") and I saw an article entitled "American Cyclists Arrive in Face Masks" quickly followed by "American cyclists apologize for wearing masks".

Not too big of a deal, cyclists aren't known for their style... any motorist can tell you that. But suddenly, something caught my eye in the article:

BEIJING (AP) -- Four American Olympic cyclists are apologizing to Beijing's Olympic organizers for arriving in China's capital wearing face masks.

Michael Friedman, Sarah Hammer, Bobby Lea and Jennie Reed released a statement, saying the masks were only a precaution, and not an attempt to make a political or environmental statement.

The name Bobby Lea stood out like a saddle soar after 150k.

I don't know Bobby. I know other Olympians in Beijing [see next post] but I'd be lying if I said Bobby and I were friends. No, I remember Bobby from several races where we faced off head to head while I was racing for Vermont and he was racing for our heated rival Penn State University. He was a crit and TT specialist, I was the exact opposite, a mountain and 'tough guy' endurance race specialist. I first remember Bobby from a race back in 2001 (I think at West Point, but I might be wrong)... My teammates were cycling dorks... followed every pro race... knew how to pronounce even the most obscure Dutch cycling names with near fluency despite their anglophone-centric education. I, on the other hand, did my training (short in length, hard in effort), wolfed down a dinner that always included some sort of canned food and a salad, and spent the rest of my time studying Computer Science and Accounting [not recommended if you list 'Partying', 'Personal Exploration and Discovery', or even more directly, 'Chicks' as you collegiate goals]. Not a lot of time for watching Phil Ligget and Paul Sherwin on VHS, perfecting the pronunciations down to the lowest domestique, or going on long, drawn-out road rides while discussing the latest L'Equipe editorial with your buddies (although I wish I could have).

Before one race, they spoke of one name with a slight hint of apprehension (as in... "omg, this guy is going to kill us all.. he's legendary!"). I really don't pay attention to that kind of thing because I always thought that if a person is THAT good, I'll see it first hand during the race. I remember hearing mutterings about some sort of National Championship or Junior National Championship or Track Championship and I even think I heard a few foreign countries mixed in while I took off my warm-up gear.

The race started and we wound our way around the forested hills of West Point. Since it was only April and most of the teams were from the East Coast, we all had pasty-white legs due to the fact that most of us only begun riding outside within the last month (at that time, I would usually ride about 200 hours INSIDE before riding outside ... good thing I'm a lazy ass now :)

Anyway, the race started and we were riding along in the peloton when suddenly I smelled something strange in the air... I looked at the leafless trees... pollen?... I looked at the lack of grass... "hay fever? ... in New England? ... in April? There is still a few pockets of snow in the woods for goodness sake!" Suddenly I realized it was the poser in front of me with the gleaming bronze legs that shined so much that you got a headache if you looked at his calves too long. I vaguely remember my teammates saying something about this "Lea" guy going to Panama, or Columbia, or was it Belize... for the Pan-Am games just a week before the race... must have picked up a tan and some sort of local embrocation cream to "show off" to the New England locals.

"Ha ha, I'm an international cycling superstar... just smell me dude!"
... if his legs could talk.

I drafted in a coconut-oil stupor for 10 or 20 minutes before rightly seeking a new position in the peloton ... maybe tucking in behind someone named Biff or Jake with a Britney Spears sticker on his stem who hailed from the north-country (hey, it was 2001 after all). Ahh, much better, more normal from what I'm used to.

Being cooped up inside a computer lab for 4 years has its cycling advantages... you really don't care who is in the break or what is going on in a bike race, you are just psyched that it's a weekend and for the next 3 hours, none of the people around you would rather be debugging a memory allocation error triggered by a dynamic C++ multi-dimensional array application.

Ignorance was bliss.

The only thing I did was give 100% when someone jumped, or I got bored... whichever came first.

Racing in West Point is always fun. The year before was my first year road racing (after 8 years of mountain bike racing). I was in near the front when I noticed it was getting really hard [insert idiot look here]. Guys kept hammering up the damp windy roads surrounding West Point, flanked with commanding trees on either side just starting to reveal their leaf bud weapondry for the summer. Coming from a mountain biking "every man for himself" mentality, I was like, "jeez-um, you guys 'r really putin' the boots to'her!" (old Maine/New England saying... proper definition not suitable for children under 28). That year, before I knew it, I did a rotation at the front of our break group and after I did my 120% pull (or effort) at the front, looked for support (the next guy who is suppose to take over in order to keep the pace high) and found no-one. "Geez, they are going to make me look like an idiot," I thought since I had been watching breakaways get caught in the last kilometer in the Tour de France recently, only to see the guy end up in 117th place (2 seconds behind first place). "Geeez, I'm an idiot!" I continued on anyway.

In that race, I still thought I was an idiot until the lead car zoomed in front of me (a classic indication that you alone are the leader of the entire race) to provide a lead-out and clear the road to signal that the lead rider of the race was approaching. The car zoomed in front and I got in the drops and continued to push hard as we passed fans and course marshalls [marshalls are people or policeman who stop traffic at intersections to make sure the riders go the correct way and cars do not interfere with the race].

The difference between a 'normal race' or even the Tour de France and this race was that the lead car, escorting me with flashing lights driving down the center of the road, and the course marshalls who control traffic, was that the course marshalls had semiautomatic rifles. They dressed in full battle camouflage and knew how to kill someone just by using their thumb and index finger. The 'lead car' was not a fancy "business man's" car like the Tour de France, but rather a Hummer H1, a vehicle only available to authorized military personnel, fully outfitted in camouflage and military satellite radio with a guy on the other end of the radio with his finger on a big red button (if you know what I mean). This was before the idiotic consumer-driven marketing campaign that you see today where Hummer H2 or H3 are driven by civilians outfitted with fabric seats, music radios, and air-conditioning. No, the vehicle I was behind spewed out even more exhaust, had bigger tires, a MPG efficiency that basically meant that I felt like I was drinking the gasoline straight out of the tailpipe. Instead of comfy seats and an FM radio, this thing had military-only radio contact and an interior specially designed so that if the previous driver was shot down in combat, it could be cleaned by a fire-hose and promptly replaced by a new driver.

Accordingly, even the lowly course marshalls who signal traffic to stop and point me in the direction to go were different from most bike race course marshalls. It was a subtle difference but the camoflague outfits provided a hint as they pointed the direction I should go with one hand while nonchalantly holding a semi-automatic weapon that was probably longer than my bike in the other hand.

No second guessing here. I'll go "that way".

Needless to say, despite my lead position in the race, I took all corners such as this with trepidation.

In that year, another rider finally caught up with me and beat me in the final 3 miles. We worked together until the sprint... (I think even Joe Schmoe on a mountain bike can beat me in a sprint) but it was one of my first road bike races and one that I will never forget. I finished with a huge second place victory for our team, ahead of any and all Penn State rivals... including one named Lea.

Back to the current-year story... I was so use to reading outlandish syllibi from professors and projects assigned to be due in 3 days that would take 2 months to complete that I was idiotic enough to say... "err, ahhh.. alright, still 2 hours left to go... 120% of my maximum heart rate seems like a reasonable and maintainable effort to me!" So I jumped on a wheel. If that wheel failed, I jumped on another.

Eventually, it was just 5 of us. Most of the riders in that pack are still professional cyclists even to this day (7 years later). We rotated through to hold off the main peloton or what was left of it but I noticed that some were holding out for the flat finish.... (did I mention that Pee-Wee Herman could beat me in a sprint?).

I think I got 4th in the race but I do remember that the (in)famous Lea was nowhere close. "Pffft... " I thought. So much for racing in the Pan-Am games... spring in New England is a killer... (or maybe our pasty white legs simply distracted him).

Many years later I discover Lea on the cover of "Bicycling Magazine", one of the biggest cycling magazines in the world. He was always a pretty boy in my mind (see 'leg oil treatment' above), so the cyclist-turned-model seemed to fit.

However, in reading the latest Yahoo! Sports article about the masked cyclists, my eyes quickly focus on a single name.... and suddenly my olfactory glands filled with essence of coconut and rubbing alcohol. Sure enough, he is representing the United States in Track Cycling in 2008.

Curious (aka 'class is getting boring'), I investigate my former enemy further to find an article entitled:

Lea follows family's Olympic legacy

Geez, after reading this article I'm thinking that My dad was an accountant and CFO... his was an Olympian... pffffft, as a kid, I remember having the following argument with my dad, ... I'm sure Bobby had the same argument with his Olympian dad:

"Which is better, Burger King with the Whopper and Strawberry Shakes, or McDonald's with the Big Mac and crispy Apple Pies?"

This discussion could go on and on as we traveled back from the hockey arena or bike race to home.

Epilogue
Bobby did not receive a medal, but the press coverage for wearing anti-pollution, anti-Chinese, anti-cultural, xenophobic masks was well covered.

Neither my Dad or I like McDonald's or Burger King anymore... not sure why though.

Bobby is still a great cyclist. I look like one of those guys with the expensive bike who looks like he just started riding last week. But I still enjoy it.

Perhaps Bobby would have been better off with some military vehicles and M16 bearing soldiers to lead him into China... yeah, that would have gone over smoothly :)

... but you have to catch that break Bobby.

:)