By Peter Schulze

I busted out of my last period class all fired up for my first ride with the RPM squad. There was only one setback: one long nine hour drive ahead of us.  So I packed up the car.  I put the bikes in, I put the bags in.  I bought a car charger for the iPod.  We were set.  We left Los Alamos around high noon.  All was going as planned.  We blasted through Santa Fe, stopped not at Albuquerque, and pinned it all the way to the Arizona border.  4 hours in, stop for gas (and coolant) was a welcome break.  It wasn't until we passed through Flagstaff that night when things started to turn grim.   We stopped at Arby's in Flag where we procured some highly disappointing Beef 'n' Cheddars and made weird noises with the straws in our cups.  We departed again, but this time, we were traveling a fraction of the speed due to the fresh new layer of sheer ice on I-40.  Cruising along at 40 or 45, we caught up to a particularly slow semi truck, going 10 or 20.  I made to move into the other lane and started to turn the wheel.  I expected to cruise on past the semi and keep a steady pace on over towards Nevada.  Not so.  The car subsequently went sideways, then the other sideways, then back again, until we had slowed down enough to clarify to the car which direction I desired to be traveling in.  I always wondered what I would say if I thought I was going to die.  Apparently, I say "Mother of God".  Luckily, after said incident, the snow wained as we traveled east, and it was smooth sailing the rest of the way to BC, Nevada.  I had never been to Hoover Dam before.  It was really cool.

Due to the weather we had hit, our trip lengthened to approx. 13 hours, and we rolled into Bootleg the same time as the rest of the RPMers, just after 1 in the morning.  When we got to the house, Bergen fell over because the sprinklers were on.  We all went to bed.

We woke up in the morning and went to Mel's Diner and many of us ate Mel's huge plate o' eggs, toast, chicken fried steak and gravy.  Then, we all went up to Bootleg Canyon.

Bootleg Canyon was just as I had imagined it.  Dry, sunny, warm, and had lots of bike trails.  It was beautiful.  We all broke out our 303s and laid them gently into Darner's sweet Dodge and drove up the mountain.  At the top of the mountain there was a small parking lot.  I was told, "You're not at the top yet.  Hike more."  So I hiked for about 10 minutes, and I was at the top, looking down onto The Strip, and down one gnarly, rocky, snarbly trail.  My first ride on a 303 was nothing short of amazing, and I immediately fell in love.

Day one Bootleg Canyon cruised by.  Darner kept us on the DH track, off the jumps, and out of the lawn chairs back a the trailer.  We rode trail after trail, hiked to the top after each run, took a few spills, did over and over again until the sun went down.  We were all very tired after our first day of practice.

Day two Bootleg Canyon: race day.  Darner had us on a more rigorous schedule day two. He planned just as many practice runs, and after looking at the weather channel, two timed runs on top of that.  So we started shuttling and hiking.  All day, 9 to 5.  Then, we raced.  Darner explained the courses.  We listened.  And at one minute intervals, Zach sent us off down the mountain.  The first course was a (relatively) east course, mostly following a run called "Diva".  The first section of the trail descended down a rocky ridge side, snaked in and out of the canyon a couple of times, and screamed out across the valley.  The next part was a 180 degree turn leading down into a series of finger canyons which the trail canyons which the trail crossed parallel, up and down over each rise.

Finishing of the course was a snake-y section, weaving back and forth between two low rises.  Pedal your head off when you get into view of the finish, overshoot the final drop 'cause your going really fast, almost lose control and run over a bush, collapse after the finish line.  Back up to the top.  I distinctly remember practice for course two.  I was so tired, I decided to save my strength for the race.  I coasted down it.  Course two: a straighter, rougher, rockier course, with a section known only as "Poopchute".  The top section was nearly the same as course one, except with more technical stuff and a little more traversing in and out of the ravine, as well as one sharp left hander combination rock roll off combination cliff.  You pedal your way up to the drop, but instead of hitting the horseshoe, you turn up a large hill which funnels out into "Poopchute".  Poopchute is narrow and rocky.  And steep and exposed.  And dangerous.  So you raced down poopchute, took two tight switchbacks, then charge down a steep hill into the biggest speed compression you have ever seen.  I Swear, I flatted every time coming out of that.

Now, the real pain:  More flat pedally switchbacks.  So you went as fast as you could down these.  Then you saw Darner and the finish line.  Darner was at the end of a 100m water washout.  So imagine: two days with 8 runs each that you have to hike to make, one race down and another race almost down, you're pedaling your DH bike with 2.7 tires in full body armor in the hot Nevada afternoon sun down a loose, sandy rain wash.  Tough.  Upon crossing the finish line, I laid down and was happy.

That night Darner cooked us some sick cheeseburgers and tater tots.  I had a great time chilling with all the RPM guys that night.  With racing off our minds and finally clean, fed and hydrated, we all kicked it and enjoyed some bike movies and bike discussion.  We all hit the hay with only one thing to worry about: that nine hour drive ahead of us...  Or will it be 16 hours?