THE NORBA RACE RETURNS
MOUNTAIN BIKERS TEAR UP THE HILL...AND GET TORN
More than a thousand racers turned out for NORBA mountain bike racing at Deer Valley. Some of them watered the dirt with their blood.
Every mountain offers tough terrain, but the toughest part at the NORBA race was, the downhill. There were 70 riders who tried to qualify for Sunday's downhill. Ten of them went to the emergency room.
The course, full of drop-offs and rock gardens, is considered one of the more challenging on the NORBA national circuit.
Melissa Buhl, came into the race "shooting for the win," after qualifying first by a wide margin. She said, "There are sections that are really technical, but the dirt is so loose that it’s really hard to control yourself if you’re riding fast. If you brake too much, you’re all over the place."
Buhl, who will go to medical school once her daredevil career is over, was the women's pro downhill winner. She began racing BMX as a child, became a BMX as well as a mountain bike pro at 16, and has been racing for 16 years.
"This is my job. I earn enough to live on and pay my way through school," she said.
Kathy Pruitt took second, followed by Abigail Hippley. Hippley also thinks the Deer Valley course is one of the most challenging on the circuit, and she isn't even counting the strong gusts of wind that hit some riders while they were in the air, causing a fumbled landing.
"The whole week, I was just thinking about having a smooth run. I rolled over the first two rocks challenges. I don’t think anyone aired on them," she said.
Duncan Riffle was the men's pro champ, followed by Justin Leov, a Kiwi (that's New Zealand, for those demanding more formal nomenclature).
Leov, a pro for only two years, was pleased. He says, "Last year I was 15th, this year I was 2nd. I came better prepared this year."
Before becoming a pro, he was a privateer, an unsponsored racer hoping to get noticed by a team. Now his expenses are paid. But even with a second place showing, it's not really a profitable venture.
"NORBA doesn’t pay very well, all I’ll get is a couple hundred dollars, but we don’t do it for the prize money. Knowing that you’ve gone fast, pushed your daring, that's what it's about," he said.
Andrew Neething was third.
The course was marked off with white tape that had baby blue "Shimano" written on it; a much better visual than the ordinary yellow "caution" tape that marks a crime scene. That was a good thing: any caution on the way down meant the rider would be looking up at the winners from the crowd.
The course was dry and dusty. As each rider waited for the starting beep, they could see what seemed a pleasant trail leading to some trees. But after the trees, things got serious. The first rock drop-off was gentle, compared to the rest. Some of the women picked their way through a short section of rocks; but others, the ones who topped the results list, rode strong over them.
Below the first rock garden was a steep path with two turns, so narrow that a thick pad of foam had been placed over a protruding jagged-edged boulder. It was a byway that circled around the more direct and technical approach, a line where riders had to jump off the top, over a vertical rock garden that allowed riders to land and continue in a straight and fast line. This was where the first rider went down. He took the byway fast, hesitated for just a moment at the turn, and his bike slipped on the loose dirt. His body went one way, his foot another. The force twisted the weakest link, his ankle.
After that, no one took the byway. Those who rode down strong without hesitation, with no front wheel wiggle, were able to keep their speed. The fastest riders took air way before the drop-off; their tires never touched rock.
The real story of the race was before the downhill began, at the start. It was a pure demonstration of Mars and Venus.
As the women got off the Carpenter Lift with their bikes, they greeted friends, warmed up while laughing and talking. It could have been a party. There was a lot of laughter. Women got up from one group they were sitting in and walked over to sit with another group. It was friendly; turning quiet only when the starter began calling out the lineup.
There was no conversation when the men gathered for their start. They sat by themselves for the most part, each alone in his thoughts. There were a few riders who talked to a friend, but there was no group laughter. There were no groups. No bursts of laughter, no animated conversations. The men sat on the rocks, knees drawn up, hands folded, heads down.
A sociologist could have a field day watching the difference between men and women waiting for the start of a dangerous race.