Once you see this sign abandon all hope

The Interbike bike show for the working media is a complete shit show. There’s really no other way to explain or sugar-coat it. Each year I went as an editor I could have written a post about all the shenanigans that occur: from the photo shoots in our hotel room, to hanging out to all hours of the night with various pros, but I thought I’d pick this story out of the hat.

The first year I attended as working media I was actually excited about attending. I was going to hang out in Las Vegas and see the latest and greatest bike stuff. What more could I want? By day three I was destroyed from all the walking from meeting to meeting. At one point my BFF who works at another magazine saw me collapsed on the floor behind a booth and severely reprimanded me. I tried to explain to him that I was exhausted. This wasn’t exhaustion due to late night partying, but from the whole day of zig-zagging the expo floor, bouncing from one appointment to another and subsisting on free sugary energy drinks and heat-lamp cooked hot dogs. I’ll always remember what he said, “Suck it up! Everyone here is playing hurt!” The following year I promised myself that wasn’t going to be “that guy” who pulled the ripcord on day three.

The years following “playing hurt” became my motto and I lived it. Back before Cross Vegas dominated the Wednesday night scene there was the epic Sinclair party. And as I look back at it I wonder why it was such a big deal. We were all crammed into an overflowing nightclub at the top of some casino, with music so loud you couldn’t talk to the same people I had to have meetings with throughout the day. However I had a plan. We would arrive at the party early as I knew that later in the evening trying to get to the bar would be an almost impossible task. From there phase 2 of my plan was that I would immediately start pounding drinks to take advantage of the open bar. By the time it was 11:00 I would have drank myself mostly sober and be able to continue with that night’s activities, whatever they may have been. However, it all went horribly wrong.

The show floor - where the magic happens

As planned Tim and I got to the Sinclair party with passes in hand and I headed to the bar. A few British journalists were already there with probably the same idea I had: take advantage of the open bar, pound free booze and then take off. I started drinking and chatting. I know a few of them – in particular Ellis Bacon of Pro Cycling. Ellis is a great guy, but whenever I see him I can’t help myself by saying, “What’s shaking Bacon?!” With a few drinks in me I’m now over the top with my enthusiastic greeting. I’m sure to this day he probably considers me that ugly American. But seriously, I can’t be the only one who has said that to him? When the open bar ended I thought I was done too. However by this time the marketing people have started to arrive and began handing me free drinks. Before I knew it I was plowed. There have only been a few times when I was black-out drunk. This was one of them.

I vaguely remember getting into a taxi to get back to the Venetian hotel where we were staying. I awoke to the room spinning and the uncontrollable urge to get everything out of my stomach immediately. For the next couple of hours I hovered by the toilet praying to God that he would end my life. Tim graciously stepped up to cover my morning appointments. Finally around 11:00 AM I could stand up and make my way to the show floor. I dragged myself down and started to make my appointments. At one point I felt something trying to come up and I hurried to the men’s bathroom. I quickly walked over to the nearest one, trying not to make it seem that obvious I was going to hurl. I rounded the corner, entered the bathroom and was hit with the stench of vomit mixed with urine and other human waste. The floors were slick with god knows what and every counter top was wet. And you can forget about paper towels. In the far stall I heard the unmistakable sound of someone bent over a toilet yacking their guts out. I’ve smelt all kinds of foul odors from dead bodies, baby shit to burning flesh, but few things smell as bad as that bathroom did. It was as if I entered Dante’s fifth layer of hell. I choked back any urge to vomit and quickly spun around on my heels. I would rather at this point go to the PowerBar booth and stick my head into their garbage can to puke then stay in that hell hole of a bathroom.

At one point I caught up to my friend and I told him what had happened. He had done something similar but he was not looking that worse for wear. It was then that I realized I was still a rookie at playing hurt at Interbike.

The following years I calmed down a bit when attending Interbike. I met some great people at the show and did some more normal mature activities like going for a drink instead of emptying every bottle behind the bar. It also helped that I talked a lot of shit about how I was going to win Cross Vegas and was trying to impress at the industry criterium race, so I needed to at least keep myself in check.

I didn’t attend the 2009 Interbike because I had just left ROAD and to be honest I didn’t miss it. I thought I would, but the thought of walking up and down the aisles listening to advertisers drone on about whatever product they have, no longer holds the same magic for me. That said, it looks like I’ll be attending the 2010 Interbike in some sort of media capacity and I expect to have plenty of stories to tell.

So true...

“Hey, since you’re up here for the Mercer Cup you might as well come up a day early and do Fifth Street Cross.” And with that spontaneous thought from my BFF Cush, I decided to load two duffel bags with enough cycling clothes to be prepared for any type of adverse weather conditions. “There might be rain, so over-pack,” was his last bit of advice.

The Mercer Cup race in New Jersey is the third stop on the USGP of cyclocross tour. The past two years it has been a mud-fest with almost equal parts running as well as riding. The crowds are thick and boisterous to say the least. However, in the town of Emmaus, Pennsylvania there is an equally well known race with a crowd that is also in various degrees of sobriety, Fifth Street Cross. To quickly summarize Fifth Street Cross, aka “fsx”, is to imagine a European World Cup cross race with a course thick with drunk spectators. Now imagine the drunk spectators are given race bikes and put onto the course to compete. That’s “fsx”.

Last minute beers and bike adjustments at Mountain Cycles

Fifth Street Cross originally started in Bicycling Magazine’s Bill Stricklands’ backyard. The course included single track, technical sections and goats. Of course there was beer hand-ups. But “fsx” became a victim of it’s own success as too many people started showing up for the Thursday night cross race/party. What went from a loose gathering of friends getting together to drink and race, to a real race and the legal complications that came with it. Not to mention that his backyard and house was getting trashed by the additional racers that were now making the “fsx” a Thursday night tradition. So the race was moved to a grass field, a racing license became required and forms needed to be filled out. But just because the race became more legit, it didn’t mean that the vibe of the race had changed.

The break between the two races and a chance to pound a beer

The Fifth Street Cross course is a windy track that loops through a grass field, around trees, and includes a short run-up followed by barricades. By it’s self this is a tough course. Race promoter/ring master Strickland described to me that the track is a pedaler’s course that required strength. The grassy sections require power and the many switch backs demand technical skill. What separates “fsx” from traditional cross races is a the short cut option and the theme of the night. Each lap the racers have the option of either taking a short cut route or a longer option. However the short cut option comes at a price – you need to eat, drink or do whatever the race volunteers/referees give you. This is where “fsx” again deviates from the normal ‘cross race. Also each race night has a theme and the theme was Mexican, which meant all the food and drinks that were going to be eaten or drank in order to take the short cut were Mexican in origin. Extra style points were given if you wore a sombrero or poncho. On one lap if you wanted to take the short cut you had to eat a chili pepper. Other laps it was hot sauce, tequila mixer or refried beans. On the last lap a four-question quiz about Mexico had to be completed (What is the body of water on the eastern side of Mexico?) and answered correctly before you could pass. Think Monty Python and the Holy Grail when the knights had to answer questions before they could cross the bridge and you get the idea. Oh, and most racers indulged in some pre-race liquid carbs, so quick and intelligent decision making might be a bit hampered. It was going to be one of those nights.

Bobby Lea - Thursday night's winner at

I arrived at Mountain Cycles bike shop in the heart of Emmaus and was almost immediately given a beer as part of the the pre-race “fsx” ritual. The small shop started to fill up with local racers. One local was Team OUCH rider Bobby Lea. For 2010 Lea is riding for the Bahati Foundation team, and was doing the “fsx” race for the hell of it. He’d been winning every week to no one’s surprise. Another local was Army Jim who in full camo gear, including World War II era style helmet. Yep, it was an eclectic group.

The evening races are split into two separate races, the first race is four laps with a winner. There is a 15 minute break so everyone can pound a few beers and then there’s the second race which is three laps. By the second race I’m fairly buzzed from pounding beers at the shop on virtually and empty stomach, racing and then pounding another beer in between races. The serpentine nature of the course started to get to me and my stomach, which was also not helped by the fact that I had to eat a chili pepper in order to take the short cut option and gulped down an shot of tequila. However, the highlight of the race was when Bicycling Magazine’s own Fit Chick pushed me into one of the many plastic poles that the race tape was tied to as she swooped beneath me. She later said that driving me into the pole was, “pretty easy.”

In the end everyone survived the race (which was a surprise to me) and the after party started at the only Mexican restaurant in town. Awards were given out and I won a razor for “smoothest move”, a nod to the fact that I’d been crashed by the Fit Chick and I had driven 10 hours to participate in the Thursday night madness. I had ridden for a little under an hour for a total distance of 10 miles. Next stop New Jersey. Good times…

Links:

• Fifthstreetcross
• Facebook Photos
• Fifth Street Cross Photos

Well I’m proud to say that my BFF finished the Canadian TransRockies mountain bike stage race. For a moment I thought he might say f’ it and quit, however he dug deep and completed it several hours behind the winner. Mike states in his last blog post that he is amazed that Specialized rented an RV for him. Mike is too modest. Mike wields a huge amount of power in the cycling industry. One word from him and a companies’ $600 hybrid is either going to be the most successful bike ever or the albatross around their neck bringing them to the brink of bankruptcy. So don’t believe his self effacing ways, I know better. In his blog Mike seemed to be disgusted by the fact that human waste had been dumped in front of his RV. I know Mike and out of the two things in life he loves, talking about feces is one of them. And like a pig in slop, he probably couldn’t have been happier to see that biological disaster at his front door. He’s filthy that way.

Anyways congratulations and you actually didn’t suck too bad this time. Now man-up and do Vegas ‘Cross!

My BFF

For those who, on a whim, clicked my link from Mike Cushionbury’s blog at Bicycling.com and is looking for the best bikes under $600, tips to climb faster in ten days or some feel good story, immediately hit the “back” button. For those intrepid readers who are Bicycling Magazine readers I congratulate you for continuing. Now you might be wondering why Cush has linked me to his massive Bicycling Magazine site. Cush and I have a back-story. We’ve known each other for over 15 years when we both worked in retail hell at a bike shop. Somehow we’ve stayed in the industry one way or another. Cush has been in the magazine side much longer than me and is truly a seasoned veteran of the publishing game. And right now he is doing some mountain bike stage race in Canada from which he is blogging. And I’m sure he’ll have delightful stories of overcoming adversity. Let me give you the real scoop. He’s done these types of events before and I admire him for lining up. However Cush chokes more times than a two dollar whore. Now I really do love the guy, but in one stage race he dropped out 40 minutes into the first stage! What the hell! Now somehow he’s suckered Specialized to let him race on some kind of mountain bike. Just to be clear, Cush on his worst day with me on my best and he’d still stomp mud holes in me on the bike. In my own defense Cush’s job at Bicycling is to just be Cushionbury. Editorially wise his day is filled with writing pithy sentences on what’s hot or not on some bike or how he’s riding something cool and you’re not. My day is filled with phone calls, conducting interviews, transcribing, writing reviews and miscellaneous crap that pops up. That doesn’t leave me with a lot of training time. Our typical phone call exchanges go like this;

Cush: “What are you doing?”

Me: “Working.”

Cush: “I just got done doing the lunch ride on the new (insert new bike or product here).”

Me: “Go screw yourself!”

Cush: “Hey, what’s your little magazine’s circulation? I think we give away more than you sell.”

Me: “God I hate you!”

Magazine circulation is a penis measuring contest. It’s kind of a secret, but you also want everyone to know how big it is.

Bicycling Magazine readers don’t despair. He’s been doing some top secret training with Floyd Landis while checking out the new Dura-Ace electronic shifters. And I’m sure he won’t quit right away so continue to read his posts. I really do hope my little buddy finishes. I will also continue to read his posts and break down the b.s. and give you the real scoop.

I’m at the Specialized launch and rooming with Cushionbury of Bicycling Magazine. We’re bored so that means one thing, we’re drinking.

Actual vinyl records. He also had cassettes

I’m helping Bicycling Mag guy Mike Cush move. He’s leaving SoCal for the home office of Bicycling in Emmaus. What an idiot! Anyways he has a lot of crap including actual records and 20 year old issues of MBA.