I’m not sure what the hardest thing I have ever done in my short career is… but moving from 43^rd to 10^th in the Dalby World Cup might have been it. Without question I have finished races in much poorer condition… pushing myself through bonking, exhaustion and/or being broken. But never before have I pushed through a race relying on my head as much as I did this weekend.

I got called up in 40^th position, and after spending 3 minutes shaking with excitement on the starting line, I proceeded to go backwards. I don’t know why but I couldn’t make my legs go. Gaps opened I normally would have easily closed, and as euros went blazing past me I briefly thought about the South African WC when I was in other shoes. So after a few wasted minutes standing in the woods waiting for the mob to snake its way through the single track I came through the start banner in 43^rd place (I was sure I would see 60 something before seeing the results). Shit… I was supposed to be 40 places ahead of where I was.

So I set out on the task of moving up, which initially didn’t happen, because again those legs just wouldn’t turn over. I spent that first lap contemplating what I though would be an impending implosion and temper tantrum at the finish line. But I didn’t have a whole lot of time to think about that when my upper body started to cramp. It was completely exhausted. I had to sit up, stop pedaling, and pull my hands off the bars. It was bizzare. I think I was so stressed about being so far back that I had just given my handlebars a 15 min death grip without noticing it. God I was pissed about how my race was playing out!

Durnig this time I had to stop my brain and start relaxing. I told myself it was ok, just time to stop messing around and start bike racing. I knew who was in that front group… it was a bunch of those Germans, Swiss and Rabobank guys I had just spent the past two weeks beating. Time to nut up. So I guess that’s what I did.

By lap two things were spread out enough, and I was in the company of enough slow euros that I could just start doing work. Over the next two laps I moved up 30 guys and then in the last two of five I caught 3 more… and was in sight of the chase group! I don’t even really remember much of it… every time I passed Marc or my parents, they were saying lower numbers. I remember being frustrated, and I remember that I kept telling myself to relax. I stayed focused on my body, making my legs turn over fast, but knowing where my limit was. I had to keep this up to get into that top 10. I kept telling myself that’s where I needed to be in order to salvage this race. I thought about my breathing, and I though about where I put my front tire. That was really about it. On lap one I was the 23rd fastest guy out there… on lap three, I was the fourth fastest U23 on course… on lap four I was the fastest! Simple.

I crossed that finish line with a smile. I know I belong in that top 5… but the work I did during that race was nearly impossible. I still cannot believe I made that happen… 33 of the fastest guys in the world could not hold my wheel when I rode past them. I wonder how many of that top ten could have hung on to my wheel had I been in their presence from the start. I don’t think many of them could have.

That may sound arrogant… I don’t know, but I am realizing that I am now in the conversation when people talk about the best in the world. I don’t know what that means really… maybe nothing, I think time will tell. I can’t make it more than it is, that’s too much pressure. I just need to go race my bike, that’s what I’ve always done. Things aren’t different. Whether its for 5^th place at a junior 14 and under race or for a podium at a World Cup. I guess the latter is where I belong. So I am gonna go try to race there. Maybe I should put away this bowl of chocolate musli though…

Last time I checked in I had just returned (or was returning?) from the South African Central time zone (+2hrs) to MST… I’m back in it now… or the European equivalent at least. It was a quick turn around after SA… I had 36 hrs in Bozeman to sleep, unpack, do laundry, ride, and pack and catch another flight, this time to Austin, TX. That’s the same amount of time it took me to get from Pietermartzburg to home.

In Austin I had the opportunity to sizzle in the heat, eat some delish taco’s and get a flat tire. It was a quick weekend, which felt good, out Thursday, back Sunday… The Mellow Johnny’s classic went well, I was raced the Mexican national champion (Ill call him Turbo) for 5^th place after spending the first half chasing from 30^th. I had a poor start compounded by a burped tire. At the end of the day, that tire had just lost too much air, I rolled it and went down 4km from the finish, Turbo got away from me, Spencer caught me and proceeded to pin it. Who knows what could have happened.. that could have been my first ever Pro XC podium.

Turbo went uphill pretty quick, so maybe not. The race finished on a climb. But anyways, I finished 7^th and proceeded to put it behind me. I feel like Austin and Lance’s ranch was just a side not in a whole lot of bigger more important shtuff. However, downtown

Austin is amazing… Daimo, Mitch and I went out moderately big on Saturday night and started some dance party’s downtown. It was crazy… a twenty-block strip of downtown (Sixth Street I think) gets shut down and people go nuts, including us. I hadn’t been out until 2am in a long ass time… it felt good. I was with two good friends and we danced in the streets and I’m sure all the bro’s with popped collars were thinking ‘how lame are they!’ while their girlfriends were probably like ‘I wish my man was that self confident…’ Even if they weren’t, we had nothing to loose.

After another short stint home, I think 60 hrs this time, I was on another trans-continental flight.

I arrived in Germany for the first time comfortable, confident and relaxed. This is my 3^rd rodeo here, and I am feeling like Kirchzarten is becoming a home away from home. I know these roads well now and I know what kind of ship Marc runs.

We kicked things off with the Solothurn Swiss Racer Cup. This was the 3^rd time I had ridden there, my resume including two near DFL’s and a flat tire. I got lapped both times. The third time proved to be the charm however, because after a good start I settled into the lead group and spent my day witling away at the group I found myself in, until only myself and Giger of Rabobank remained fighting for 10^th place I think. He decided to put the hammer down on the final climb, I was expecting it, but couldn’t really react, but his skinny ass did help get me up to Litscher (who was 2^nd at U23 Worlds last year) and then he and I did some battle. At this point my legs decided this would be a good time to cramp, so he caught me, and passed by when my chain took another disastrous bounce (the same move it pulled in SA)… but either way, I had 2km to go, and I just rode it in. I finished 12^th.

This has got to be one of the best rides I have ever put together… and one of the best an American U23 has done in recent memory. When I look at the results list, I am completely blown away. I think at least 3 of the guys in front of me have World Championships bars on their arms.. these are some of the modern day legends of the sport… its incredible.

I finished the weekend up with another short, but tough race in Witneau, just south of the house here… I won, which is sweet, it was a fun little race, lots of family fun out there. It was cool to rep the US win again, this was the third year in a row, I follow Tad and Rob, and Marc was stoked too. So much pressure for that one.. haha, not serious there, but it was hard, especially after Solothurn, and it was tough to get my head into the game for it. But whatever, it was cool. First win in Europe!

The next one

I leave South Africa with a bag of mixed emotions. My trip down here was, to say the least, a little spontaneous. Marc booked my

ticket a mere ten days before travel, and only a couple prior to leaving for Sea Otter. This

race immediately, in my mind, became one of the most important of the season… the master plan was kind of thrown out the door as I started dreaming of World Cup podium finishes and success in the World Cup overall. Don’t get me wrong, in hindsight I still believe that these were good and fine goals, but I forgot to account for erroneous variables that I have zero control over… like bobbling Australians and broken derailleurs.

Jack and I arrived in Santa Cruz, I guess two weeks ago now, for a BMC product launch. We shredded some prime Redwood Forest singletrack on the new carbonBut I guess Sea Otter (or “Sea Donkey”, if you are one of the Wells brothers), would be a good place to start…

Trailfox 01 with some media guys, dealers, the sales rep team and some of the head honchos from Switzerland. Again it was soooo cool to ride that bike, its just handled so well, and riding along with the CEO Mike, and chief of International Marketing Frank Schneider, made it that much cooler. It feels good to be part of the BMC family, the fact that everyone at this company is as passionate about riding as we are about building the most

technologically advanced bikes, really sets us apart I think.

The short track was over before I knew it on Friday, I finished 7^th, in what was a brutal, unspectacular, race of attrition, But it was Saturday in the XC that started the emotional rollercoaster I have been on the past week.

After poor starts, Troy Wells and I worked together to move through the 20’s and teens… back up to the lead group. Without his provocation I wouldn’t have ended up racing for 5^th place against Sam and Jeremy… which is exactly where I ended up after Plaxton upped the pace our chase group and I was too far back to grab his wheel. It was incredible to be riding in such stellar condition, again against my teenage idols. It was the first time I had been in such a position at an XC race. The three of us were out by ourselves racing for the final spot on the podium. It was fast, brilliant and exciting racing! The kind that makes me love this sport! We worked well together for the middle part of the race, it wasn’t until lap 7 that I put the pressure on when Sam seemed to be cracking. Nothing really came of it, a small gap, but nonetheless it demonstrated to me that I could beat these guys if I kept playing it cool. What a rush! And that’s exactly what happened… I responded perfectly to attacks over the next lap and a half, coming into the final meters having been able to ride a tempo that neither of those guys could break! This wasn’t some cat and mouse shit, I was able to completely respond to and further prevent the attacks of former and future Olympians!

Only I messed up… in the closing 500m I decided it would be a good idea to take a new line… I now have no idea what I was thinking, but I bobbled and came out of my pedal, as I sat second wheel to JHK on the final decent…

What was I thinking! I couldn’t believe what I had just done as Sam rolled past. All that excitement came crashing down. They only got about 5m, but after a couple quick pulls into the headwind, they gained 5m more and I was relegated to 7^th again! This was without a doubt my best ever XC race, and qualified me for an automatic nomination to the World Championships Team. But a race I should have been ecstatic about became a total disappointment in that instant. I would be bitter regardless of whether I was riding for 5^th place or 20^th place. I messed up, and ruined an opportunity. I will be back though.

I think this disappointment in some ways lead to my complete tantrum in South Africa, where my perfect start, and top ten position all shattered in 10 seconds when an Australian bobbled on one of the few technical sections, forcing me to backpedal, my chain to bounce off the chain rings, kink and jam in my rear derailleur. I had a perfect set up for the race. My legs were responding well, I felt fast in previews, Troy and I were having fun, the BMC World Cup team was there in my support! Everyone was watching after my Sea Otter ride and I had lofty expectations of myself. God was I ever nervous on that starting line. It had all fallen into place. But that damn Australian.

That’s all I could say while I stood next to the course watching the U23 field pass me by… its all I could think as I ran 2km to the tech zone… its all I could think when I saw the shock on Gee, the BMC mechanic’s face… ‘that damn Australian’… it was all I could think while I sat along course, watching lap after lap, the U23 race I should have been contesting, roll by.

I don’t hold it against him. This is racing. My chain could have balled up anywhere. It could have happened last week at Sea Donkey, it could have happened in the Fontana short track as I attacked on that last lap. It took me a while to convince myself of this however. JHK had reassuring words at the end of the day,

“dude we’ve all been there, it sucks when it happens after you’ve flown half way around the world, but you will be back”.

And he is right. My dream of a good World Cup overall finish this year is probably dead. But just to think that it may have not been far fetched is pretty wild. I can race inside the top ten at a World Cup. A year ago that was inconceivable, and as far as I can tell, for the past few years that has been unrealistic for any young American! Shit that is so cool!

I can’t control everything. But these past two weeks have taught me a lot. I can confidently say that I wont again be the one bobbling when in position to score big… I better understand how easily the best racing moments can catastrophically collapse. They need to be cherished, and exploited, but most of all respected.

the third fastest

I’m seeing snow out the window as we approach Bozeman. A far cry from the eighty humid degrees I was racing in yesterday afternoon during the Pan American MTB Championships.

Colombia proved to be a complete success on all accounts. I finished 3^rd yesterday… definitely one of the hardest races in recent memory, but

maybe all the sweeter because of it.

Bogotá and the surrounding areas are stunning. The city sits on plateau at 8500 ft, with steep, heavily forested mountains, shrouding it from the lands extending below. The people were all smiles, supportive, with endless high-fives and desires for photo opportu

nities. We were treated royally and during the race, the cheers of “USA… go gringo!” were only drowned out by those of “Va Va Va…. Colombia! Colombia!”

In many ways the race felt like a World Cup, a seemingly endless sea of people, I would guess over 8,000 spectators lined the course, slamming on metal barriers and waving flags.

Far more impressive than any crowd I have seen at the North American World Cups or Word Cha

mpionships. The venue was packed with fruit and wears vendors, and an open-air bar and huge wood-fired grills satisfied the physical hunger of those watching our races. But it was the victorious Colombian racers who managed to fill a more profound emotional hunger.

The course was primitive… very representative of a deeper relationship between much of Latin America and Europ

e. It lacked the refinement of the European courses, but had the same soul. It was steep, technical and rocky. It wound up through the forest, a wrenching climb, and we were rewarded with a fast and exciting decent.

The race started about as poorly as possible for me, I ended up on the ground within the first 45 seconds, as the scramble for the first singletrack began, I cross wheels with a Chilean and wasn’t able to save myself. But within a minute I was leading the race up the first climb and through a deafening roar along the 4x course. I rode steadily for those first few minutes awaiting the flurry of attacks I expected to come. But they never did… the pack became strung out and broken and I plotted along. My competition seemed unable to hold my wheel as gaps formed and after winding our way up the mountainside, at last only four of us remained. Two Colombians came past me near the top of the climb, it was hardly an attack, at 9200 ft no one was able to put forth that intense of an effort. But it was a move. I decided not to follow. We had four more laps to go, four more times up that mind-busting climb. I expected the Colombians to go, and I expected them to implode. I was half correct.

For the next 4 laps we all rode in stagnation. No more moves were made, the gap

s just got larger. The Brazilian, who was the last of our initial group floated backwards, and the two Colombians gently put time into me. I tried to increase my effort over the third, fourth and fifth laps, but this proved impossible. I had one gea

r on that climb, the altitude prevented all attempts to increase my pace. And so I was resolved to fighting an 80-minute solo effort. Fighting off the Brazilian who wasn’t coming back, and chasing two Colombians who refused to slow down.

Coming towards that finish line was such an emotional relief… the barriers were lined 5 people deep for 200 yards, and the noise again brought a smile to my face. I was immediately ushered into a corral, probably to prevent the mob from surging over the 3 finishers. People spoke in rapid Spanish and broken English. People were clamoring for photos and interviews… it was a complete scene and I was honored to be part of the cause.

For the next two hours, I basked in what was a phenomenal race. Once I escaped that paddock I was able to enjoy my teammates company, Jack put together a great race for 7^th place. Kerry rode to 12^th, and Russell finished without re-injuring himself. Little victories for all of us. We watched the elite race and then the awards ceremony took place.

I don’t think even now the magnitude of my performance has hit me. The surging crowd of thousands standing below made quite an impression as I stood on the podium behind me the American Flag. But even so, there was just too much to take in all at once. I don’t think Pan-Ams holds the prestige amongst most American racers as they do for our South and Central American counterparts. But seeing the passion of those athletes and fans has shown me a glimps of what they really mean.

Some of the local fare

Thursday Night, somewhere between Houston and Bogota

I love the view out of an airplane window. I don’t so much enjoy looking at the ground; the cars, roads and farms creating a magnificent mosaic… it’s the clouds that consume my imagination. The thunderheads.

Right now I think I am over the Gulf of Mexico, en-route to Bogota, or more specifically, Chia, Colombia (I think most of these posts get written on an airplane). Its magnificent out, a golden glow, shinning through the haze at 40,000ft comes through my window. The thunderheads seem to be scraping the mesosphere… looked that one up on the dictionary (I’m currently in the stratosphere). The sky itself is a deep purple as night falls on the lower atmosphere, and I can see a perpetual pink strip of sunset higher up… into the bright blue of springtime evenings and afternoons.

I missed the California coastline this March. Last year, Mitch and I spent 3 weeks traveling around between Santa Barbara and San Clemente, visiting Lyd and inhaling that salty, warm atmosphere and dirty burritos. We raced and played for most of the month, it was surreal.

Time changes situations and circumstances, and instead I spent this March living at the Oympic Training Center in Colorado Springs. I was away from my own bed, away from Karina and my friends, on foreign roads and surrounded by strangers, Super-churches and Air Force and Army bumper stickers.

Don’t get me wrong, I was honored to be living with some of the finest athletes in the world, and undoubtedly I leave wiser and more prepared for the season. I believe it is easier to learn from the challenging situations than from the comfortable however. What I need to strive was reinforced while I have been away from home. I need external enrichment in my life. I crave that stimulation. And it is challenging to obtain in a near isolation, hanging out at the OTC. Some people would think that the monk-like existence at a facility like that would be exactly the way to prepare… after all it is called the Olympic Training Center. But in reality, all of this is mental. All the talent in the world wouldn’t get someone to the OTC alone. It is a drive that gets one there and the talent is concretely second.

What maintains my drive is cooking my own food, sleeping in, goofing off with my roommates and seeing the mountains I love. I miss that messy kitchen and being woken up by partygoers at 3am. I miss waking up to the front door slamming below my bedroom and the cold, mornings when karina and I just lay in bed so not to face the inclimate bedroom. I miss long mornings with a full French press (to be emptied) and the Wall Street Journal. I miss waiting for it to warm up, and the wondering whether or not I will be snowed on. But it’s all taken for granted when I nervously check the weather and make contingency plans days in advance of a pending storm. I keep looking for the next thing when I am home, forgetting about all of it until I am on the road.

South America is appearing outside my window now, and that sunset is falling into dusk. This month on the road is coming to a close, but there is still a little golden glow out my window before the day too is done. I hope I can have a little Golden glow to finish this trip too.

8th grade english projects, idols and the realization of dreams

I must have been 14 when, for an 8^th grade English class project, I wrote Roland Green, the reigning MTB World Champion. The letter was to be written to a celebrity of sorts and while everyone else was typing letters addressed to Hollywood and teen idol Brittney Spears, I wrote to a cyclist, no one else at Cashmere Middle School had ever heard of. He ended up writing a letter back, scratched out on a piece of computer paper, which ended up on my bedroom wall, alongside signed posters of Roland’s Trek-VW teammate Bishop, a younger Adam Craig, GT posters of Todd Wells, and I think I probably had a JHK edition too, from his days on Polo-RLX.

I ended up meeting Roland green later that year, at the Schweitzer Mountain NORBA race in Idaho, I think he won the XC in front of Ryder Hesjedal… I caught up with him briefly before the podium ceremony and told him how I admired him, and refreshed his memory about the letter… that was the weekend of my first Junior Expert Race too, I got lapped and caught by the girls, finishing 21^st I think, probably DFL.

Right now I am flying back to Denver after an incredibly successful weekend in Fontana…. I guess 8 years have gone by since that letter. Todd Wells is sitting across the isle, its humbling to consider him a friend now, along with JHK, Sam Schultz, Craig and Bishop too. He is rocking a custom shirt he got fo

r winning US XC, Short Track and Cyclo-cross nationals in the same season. A pretty impressive feat… someday I hope I can achieve something of that magnitude.

Yesterday in the Fontana Short Track I was able to attack Wells, Schultz and Bishop on the final lap. They couldn’t, follow. I bridged to Kabush and Taberlay… I attacked on the final climb. They couldn’t follow! I put my head down, trying to catch JHK’s wheel, and was able to hold on to finish 3^rd.

I remember shaking with excitement as we all rode around the finish paddock, catching our collective breath. The trials and frustrations of the weekends travel evaporating; broken-down vehicles, missed flights, and midnight arrivals. Two early mornings and a bittersweet XC race, going from 8^th to 12^th because of three flat tires.

I hardly remember the podium ceremony… I was focused on insuring I didn’t mess it up… I was unsure what to do with my arms… I whacked Todd in the head a couple times, and nearly fell off the blocks at the end while we all squeezed up on top.

Of course everyone congratulated me, and I returned the gesture… I’d never talked to Plaxton or Taberlay before, but for those brief moments I felt like an equal with the riders I had idolized growing up…. Perhaps that’s what I am becoming.

check out my post race interview with Colt from cyclingdirt.org

Best weekend ever...

So I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say the BMC mountainbike development team USA debut at Bonelli Park this weekend went pretty well. I for one had the best races of my life this weekend! I managed to wrangle two top ten finishes out of the weekend, 10^th in the XC on Saturday and 6^th in the short track on Sunday, just missing my first ever Pro podium by half of Wicks’s bike length. So excited.

Going into this race I really had no idea what to expect… not sure anyone on the starting line really knew how things were gonna fire, but after a few hard 3-4 hr rides this week, I was most certainly training through this race. Save a crit in Tucson a couple weeks ago, I really hadn’t raced since late September, and there were still some cobwebs hanging on to the lungs and guns. Regardless, there was a lot of expectation… I have been training hard, and now with the BMC outfit and so much great support, it seemed like now is the time to make it or break it.

I had prepared mentally to handle an implosion and when I found myself in-between the lead and chase groups after the first lap, all I could do is shake my head and hang on waiting for what was surely inevitable. Spencer was chasing me hard, and having a lot of respect for him, I just tried to set into my own pace and be smooth, knowing he was bound to shame me soon. Adam Craig joined me in the early laps and we rode together for a while, but I was reduced to a small child trying to follow him through the technical stuff, and with absolutely no ability to sustain those hard efforts I was making as I kept chasing back onto his wheel, I decided to let him go and hope I could come back to him later. I later caught Rude, who was going backward pretty quickly, and then, as hoped, made my way back up to the group of Adam and Sam Schultz, which for me was years of hard work suddenly coming to fruition. People were yelling “top ten, yea!” and as Daimo so sophisticatedly put it “Sam is right there, riding like suck… top ten is better than a poke in the eye!”. To be up there, just trying to catch those wheels… understanding these are the guys I have been looking up to for the past 5 years… That was the position I had dreamed of for years, visualized myself being in time and time again and it felt more fulfilling than I could ever have imagined! I got within about 15 seconds of Sam, who then went past Adam and I turned myself inside out to get that wheel, but again my fetal performance going downhill prevented that, and I just fought within 20 seconds or so to the finish line. The whole time looking over my shoulder waiting for Spencer to come back!

I was all smiles Sunday morning as we posed for the BMC photo shoot, still silly with excitement from the previous day’s performance, and anxiously awaiting the excitement of the racing to come. And how surreal it was to be at the front of the chase group ten minutes in… riding in 2^nd place at a Pro Short Track, chasing Plaxton, looking back and seeing JHK, Sam, Bishop, Wicks and the rest of the group yo-yoing off my wheel as I dug to break things up. I’m pretty sure time stopped… I will forever cherish that moment and image. At that moment I understood that I had made it. This is what it means and feels like to be one of the best.

To me it is fairly irrelevant that after a big pull by Schultz I was unable to get around Wicks for the final podium spot, all that matters is that I had those two laps at the front. Those may prove to be some of the most important of my career. I now have a little more understanding of what I might be capable of.

At the end of short track it was time to train, so I went out and rode steadily for another hour and a half. The sun was setting, the hills were green, the roads were quite and I was able to reflect on what had happened to me this weekend.

I have worked incredibly hard over the past 8 years, since what may have been a fateful bonk and 19^th place finish at my first Sea Otter, back when I was 14. All the wile I have had an essential support group in my parents, coach Jason, friends, Marc Gullickson and now BMC and girlfriend Karina. All have enabled me to pursue this passion, and because of their encouragement and support, I have now realized that goal of becoming a professional mountain biker. I have an understanding of what that means now, which is only attainable by riding at the front of a race. I leave this weekend changed, but more, humbled.