At 1:30 PM this past Friday, there was a lot going on for a bunch of people that were no where to be seen. Rumor had it that there would be somewhere between 60 and 95 Europeans Germans showing up. We frantically hurried up so we could have everything situated before they landed. The dust was about six inches deep and was being distributed by a breeze that swirled through the tents attempting to rip them from their post. The first time I scratch my beard I could already feel the dust attached to my hair.
The plan had been to be at Frosch Town by 10 AM. That was until the email was sent out that the Europeans Germans had been slothful in their punctuality and we wouldn’t expect them to show until 2. Ish.
Well I was there at my annoyingly punctual time of 1:23. There was a giant Special Ed trailer and Sir Gurr had parked the Rman-Pod. And soon the whole place looked like this.
And then we began the wait. The second Special Ed truck showed up and we were informed that the Europeans Germans were still a couple of hours out and all of our hurrying was to no end. We hung out for a few and then I went for sustenance and more beer. Peugot and I returned with said supplies and waited some more.
Around 4 the Europeans Germans showed up. It was an endless parade of perfectly clean rented SUVs from which perfectly clean and groomed cycling folk emerged.
You may think that this would be an uncomfortable arrangement for the Europeans Germans. They had two days ahead of them of being in the dust/mud. Their living quarters were small, cheap tents that had been furnished for them and that would be donated once they were done. The plan that was arranged for them would be to pedal for more or less the entire time regardless of conditions. Most of them had little if any cold weather gear.
I’m not going to lie. I was worried about them. I had my tent, sleeping bag and full array of cold weather gear including rain wear. I knew how cold it was going to get and had my doubts about the sleeping bags that had been purchased and even more so about the waterproofness of their tents which were the kind you get at Walmart that have a small rain cover that goes over the top 1/4 of the tent to cover the mesh. If you’ve never spent a rainy night in this type of tent, I can assure you that the term waterproof is used with artistic liberties. They will keep you dry so long as you never touch the nylon fabric. Once you touch the fabric, with anything, the water immediately transfers through and you are wet.
By any standard, the Germans had arrived and they let us know by saying, “The Germans are here.” I’m not making that up. They repeated that line word for word to let us know that they wanted their bikes. And the wait was over as we spent the next four to five hours pumping up shocks, changing flats and doing minor adjustments all topped off by one Brain-echtomy which was done by headlamp, old school style.
At this point, I checked out for a quick trip to Springdale to witness this.
Apparently my camera was drunk.
Once they played Cumbia we couldn’t keep ourselves seated and lame any more. We quickly found ourselves violating St. George city code as we danced the night away. Fortunately, we were in Springdale so no police showed up to shut us down. When we were good and danced out, we climbed back aboard our steeds and drove back to Frosch Town for the early shift the next morning.
KB and I hoboed it directly in front of our personal shit show. The last thing I remember before going to bed was the fact that Prattipus had a driver’s license and that the bikes were “secured” by wrapping tie downs through them. Genius!
I crawled out of bed to make coffee. As soon as it hit my cup, the Europeans Germans sallied forth from their cocoons and began asking about their bikes. We easily unsecured them and began the ritual of pumping up shocks and changing flats. For future reference 1.8 bars is not sufficient air to be running tubes on the Frosch Hollow course. But of course, there must be something wrong with the tires.
We had a good two hours of solid work in the morning. After which we settled into the rhythm of race support. Frantic, near fatal emergencies are avoided for about five minutes and then you sit around and wait for an hour or so for the next situation to arrive. We did this for the next 30 or so hours.
It rained. The trails got muddy. It stopped and things began to dry out. And then it rained some more and things got really sloppy. Like sloppy enough that I witnessed six riders head out from the timing tent. Four of them returned a few minutes later. It was like watching people try to ride uphill in six inches of molasses. Hilarious on my side of the scene, not so much for the poor saps trying to ride their bike in that shit.
My concerns about the Europeans Germans sleeping arrangements were not quelled, but I never heard any of them complain so I assume they figured it out. It wasn’t until the next morning, after 25 hours of dust/rain/mud that it made sense to me. After all that time in inclement conditions, they were as clean as they had arrived. Even their shoes. This blew my mind until I saw a few of them drive away and it all made sense.
Euro cars look something like this.
While being good on the gas, they don’t tend to allow for a lot of moving around or sleeping.
The Europeans Germans were driving American Cars.
Which look more like this. Do you see where I’m going with this? They had essentially been traveling in what you and I might consider cramped conditions, but to them they were in motorhomes. I didn’t make it over to their tent village, but I would venture to guess that none of them slept in the tents, but rather comfortably curled up in their American SUVs.
Of course, on the actual racing front the Alliance was well represented. Jamon did what he does and the Cutthroat Racing Team made sure everyone had beer.
P. L. and R.
Editor’s note: While there were Europeans from many different countries, we pretty much called them all Germans. The entire time. Cuz ‘Merica.