A Short Piece on Short Track

           

The whistle blows and we’re off. A couple dozen lead riders fly past their teammates who are waiting patiently in line on either side of the course. We shoot up a tabletop jump and dive down its back side. Another quick mound, up and down, and then a sharp 180 degree turn. We muscle to keep our tires in the thin, smooth, worn-down path that has been broken in tonight by the constant pounding of a thousand-plus tires. I take it a bit too fast. My back tire slides out, causing my bike to momentarily veer off into the rough stuff, getting my money’s worth out of my front shock. I adjust in time to hold off the pack of riders who are chasing close behind.

                   

I’m sitting pretty, in fifth place, hanging on to the rear wheel of the rider in front of me. We ride up a banked turn to the left before shooting back down to the right. Another sharp left over a small hump, but we take it a bit too fast. The kid in front of me goes down. I don’t think—there’s no time to think—I simply react. I instantaneously jerk my handlebars to the left, hoping to skirt around my fallen competitor, but the gravel is too loose and I slide out, the left side of my body skidding across the hard dirt, taking a patch of skin from the bottom of my knee with it. As fast as I go down, I’m up, on my bike and back in the race. “Nice recovery,” a fellow racer says as he passes me. It was a nice recovery, for only a few riders are able to pass, but the damage is done—I’ve burped my front tire. It’s got about two pounds of pressure left in it, and I still have the majority of the loop to complete.

                   

Mondays are usually not the day of the week that most people look forward to. For most people, Mondays mean back to work. But for those of us who participate in the Portland Short Track Series, there are eight Mondays during the summer that mean only one thing—race day! And instantly, Monday doesn’t seem so bad anymore. In fact, Monday suddenly becomes the best day of the week. Though the majority of riders choose to race mountain bikes, this short track series isn’t really “mountain” biking, at least not in the traditional sense. It’s more like cyclocross combined with motocross. The largest section of the course each week is an actual motocross track, complete with rolling jumps, table tops, whoop-de-dos, and banked turns. The remainder of the course can travel over a variety of terrain—loose gravel, grass, pavement, dirt, and tree roots. And though the venue never changes from week to week, the course always does.

In my opinion, of all the weekly race series that Portland has to offer, none is more fun than Short Track. It doesn’t hurt that it's summertime and that the weather is almost always beautiful, but it’s so much more than that. Short Track feels less like a competition and more like an event, where everybody’s invited and everybody is happy to be there. No matter how your race goes, no matter what place you come in, it’s next to impossible not to smile afterward. Competitors come in all shapes and sizes, all backgrounds and ages. Children who look as if they just learned to walk, race every week, and there’s no better sign for the future of the sport. On the other end of the spectrum, men and women who are old enough to be my parents—some even old enough to be my grandparents—also race each week, and there’s no better sign for my future in the sport, because if they can not only ride, but race, these technical courses at that age, it seems as if anybody can do anything if they have enough passion for it. It’s hard to watch a race, any race, in any division, and not feel inspired.

But don’t get me wrong, though Portland Short Track often feels more like a family reunion or a music festival, it is a race, and we are competing. Unlike road racing, where there seems to be an unlimited amount of strategy involved, short track is more about technique, more about being fit. Anybody can sit back in a peloton and wait for the final sprint, but in short track there is no drafting. Once that first whistle blows, you’d better be ready to race, because you can guarantee that your competitors certainly are. You have thirty to forty minutes to see how far you can push your body, to see exactly what your limits are. Because the race is so short, you practically have to go as hard as you can from start to finish, and hope that you don’t bonk, or make any mistakes, because even just one simple slip can easily ruin your race. Which has just happened to me right now.

After sixteen races in nine weeks, almost a hundred laps around this track, I somehow wait until my final one to fall for the first time. And though I do get up fast, my tire is practically flat—rubber riding on rim. If this was any other week, there’s a good chance I’d drop out of the race and take that dreadful DNF, but tonight is different—tonight I have an entire team counting on me. Nine fellow riders waiting for their turn to go. So, I ride it out, keeping my weight as far back as I can, crawling over obstacles, inching around turns. Riders pass me at will. Riders that I would usually smoke. But there’s not much else I can do, but sit back and pedal. I finally come around the last turn and slap the hand of the teammate waiting for me. I’m disappointed, but still, I can’t help but smile. The race goes on. Our team finishes strong. And we crack beers and celebrate the season in style. Now Mondays are just Mondays again. And all we can do is count down the days—only 41 more weeks until Short Track season starts!