Having made the decision to come to Australia for business purposes, I resigned to remind myself that was the reason for my visit, and not to feel disappointed with my lack of exploration of such a vast and unpopulated, wonderous country.  Visiting Australia is like taking a sip from a fire-hose, there are simply too many places to visit in one trip.  Or at least this is what I’m telling myself, as I spent a majority of the trip in the capital of the country, Canberra, a location 99.9% of Australians will tell you is “shit”.

Canberra really isn’t all that bad.  It is however, a city built for diplomats, created after Sydney and Melbourne failed to decide which great city should be the capital of the newly created country.  It is clean and surrounds a beautiful lake, and offers a host of paved trails and lovely parks.  If you stay within the city center and visit such parks, you don’t have to experience the heroin problem which dwells in the outskirts of town… Nonetheless, I never had a bad time in Canberra, it was mostly just boring, as there is no nightlife, nor any notable sights or activities.  I found myself much like a hamster on a wheel, taking endless jogs on the miles of paved trails or driving in endless circles around the senseless backwards double round-a-bouts.

Upon finally landing in Sydney, we were greeted by the blinding morning sun of the southern hemisphere and staggered around on our travel weary legs in search of our rental car.  I barely remember the drive from Sydney to Canberra, which is roughly 275 km of grassland and wombat crossing signs.  At one point I stopped for coffee, ever gracious for Fraser’s internationally functioning credit cards, as none of mine appeared to work so far from home.  Perhaps as a testimement to our delirious condition was the complete newness of this same drive on our way back to Sydney at the end of our stay in Canberra.

Once safely in our apartment in the Kingston district of Canberra, we commenced a quick excursion of the neighborhood, and immediately realized both the suburban nature of the city and the high price of commoditites in Australia.  Prices in Australia had, for the past several years, been quite inexpensive, due to favorable exchange rates.  However, as the price of foreign money falls, the cost of staying and eating in Australia climbs higher and higher… thank goodness for peanut butter and jelly!

Driving in the opposite direction took much getting used to, especially in an uninsured “no-fault” (as I was often reminded) rental car.  We made our way around the city, unscathed, in preparation for the upcoming week of events.

Monday was the first day of the 2009 UCI World Championships, and we ventured out to the venue to walk the course and get a feel for the facilities.  The event venue was Stromlo Forest, a government funded nature preserve with a complete trail system for downhill and cross country bikes.  This having been the first trip all summer that I’ve traveled without a bike, I was fairly disappointed to have not brought a cross country bike, as the trails were well built and wound about the little hill in a maze of trails.  We saw our first kangaroos as we walked the up the downhill course, and took pictures of the various features.

The next week passed much the same every day.  I managed to drag myself out on a run nearly every day, building up to almost an hour and a half by the end of the trip.  Most days I would drive Fraser out to the venue, and come up to shoot my own pictures of practice, or help him with his equipment.  Then we’d venture back to our apartment, exhausted, eat, watch whatever programming was gracing our one television channel and pass out.  This trip was certainly beneficial for replentishing any sleep deprivation I might have been experiencing!

A few nights were spent at events, or out to dinner with friends.  I can only handle a limited amount of bike speak, so it definitely got somewhat tiresome towards the end.  Nonetheless, the experience of being at the biggest and most prestigious mountain bike race in the world was truly a unique and overwhelming experience.

Sunday, the downhill race day was upon us quicker than expected, and the crowds and excitement filled the venue early.  The juniors raced first, followed by elite women and elite men.  Because I was working for Fraser, I was able to obtain media accreditation and a UCI photographer’s vest… all access!  I sat in front of the crowds, literally next to the most exciting points on the course.  After an exciting morning of racing, I decided to venture down near the finish line to watch the top twenty men finish their race run.  From my desirable vantage point,  was able to see not only the last jump, but the jumbo tron screen which showed the entire race run, as well as the finish arch with overall times.  From here I watched the biggest names in downhill racing finish their World Championship run.  I was there when Steve Peat crossed the finish with a substantial lead and maintained his lead, securing a World Championship after 15 years of racing one of the most successful World Cup racing careers but never obtaining the title of the best in the world.  Seeing such an iconic rider grasp such a long sought after title was truly a once in a lifetime opportunity.

After such a huge weekend of racing, and a week outside in the brisk and windy sun, Monday morning arrived with a relaxed air… and rain.  The morning was dreary, but the drive to Sydney a welcome change in pace.  We drove up the coast, through spectacular rainforest, windy roads, and past rain soaked beaches; sleepy beach towns reluctantly waking up from winter hibernation.  Arrival in Sydney was much akin to Dorothy’s arrival in Oz (pun intended), with it’s glittering sky scrapers, sparkling ocean, early spring blooms, and the vibrant bustle of people.

Our hotel was in a truly spectacular location, in the heart of the Rocks district of Sydney – the old remnants of the original prison camps.  From our location, we could look across the ferry station to the Opera House, and were practically under the Sydney Harbour bridge.  I couldn’t have been more pleased, and after getting settled in the room, went for a run – right up to the Opera House and through the spectacular public botanical gardens surrounding the area.  The sun, without the biting wind we’d experienced in Canberra, was welcomed, and virtually shines off every surface in the city.

The food in Sydney is eclectic, as Sydney itself is largely without a national dish, but was tasty.  Following my habit of eating the most local animal found in a region, I ate kangaroo for dinner, something that will probably not be repeated.  We visited Bondi Beach – the famous location of the Beach Volleyball event of the Olympics, and wandered around the city.

Wednesday morning, after dropping Fraser and our rental shoebox off at the airport; I relished in my first and only day alone in Australia.  While I yearned for more time, I am suited for solo adventuring, and set about exploring as much as I could fit into one day.  The city offers an “all you can ride” pass for the ferry, train and bus system.  As the ferries departed a block from my hotel, I spent the day riding various ferries around the harbour, stepping off when the location looked interesting.  I rode out to Manly Beach, located in the “North Head” of the Sydney area, outside the harbour and on the open ocean where I ran into some friends and walked the beach with them.  On the ferry ride back, I chatted up a local law student, who gave me the rundown on the Australian legal system, as well as a geography lesson for the region – too bad I was leaving the next day!

My last morning was spent in slight sadness.  There are some places that don’t seem to have been fulfilled, and Sydney, and perhaps more appropriately, Australia, is one of them.  I went for a run, across the Harbour Bridge, along the water’s edge, up though a park, back across the bridge, through the gardens, one last inhalation of the city and the stunning opera house, and then back to the hotel to clean up and finish packing in preparation for departure.

I have been beyond fortunate this year.  I have traveled to South America, ridden my bike across the high passes of Colorado, raced my bike in Europe, and partied in Whistler, British Columbia.  The experience has provided more opportunities than I ever could have imagined, as well as teaching me so many new things and introducing me to new friends around the world.  I appreciate the support of all of my friends and family members more than I can ever express…

Hitting the road in Europe however, is more of an ideal than a reality.  In Utah, I’ve grown quite accustomed to driving several hours to get to our weekend escape.  Because everything is so close in Europe, two hour drives are far, and thus I was thrilled to learn that Orcieres was a “long drive” – two hours!  The three of us were squeezed together in the front seat of the Euro van, with the back filled to the brim with bikes, bags and race gear.  Unlike the US, drives involve winding one lane roads up and over mountains, through little towns, and reckless passing techniques.

The three of us joked along the way, listening to music and allowing the Garmin GPS to lead the way.  However, unknown to Fraser and I, Simon had not entered the town of Orcieres, but the area code for the region…

After almost two hours of driving, we began winding through a French national park, the road and the scenery becoming more and more rural.  In addition to the rapidly disappearing signs of civilization, we realized that we hadn’t passed a single sign for the town.  Finally, we reached a small village and stopped for directions (and coffee, beer and crepes – thank you France) and were informed that yes, the road we were on lead to Orcieres… decades ago.  The GPS had brought us directly to the opposite side of the ski resort, and the road upon which we were traveling ended abruptly just beyond the village.  Thus, we had to turn around and drive back, and around – an additional hour and a half!

Five and a half hours after leaving Sauze, we finally made it to the resort and were excited for French food and to ride the trails we’d heard such good things about.  After a small hiccup with the hotels, we’d all settled in, found a restaurant, and had settled in for the evening.

Saturday morning came all too quickly.  The lifts open at 8:30, far earlier than in leisurely Italy, and in anticipation of the riding, we decided that it would be a good idea to get up early.   However, the trails, much like the food, proved somewhat lackluster.  Like much of what we’ve ridden, the trails were man-made and relatively easy.  In addition, the air was crisp, and the chairlift to the top of the mountain was absolutely freezing.  Thankfully, after a morning of disappointing riding, we ate a terrific lunch!

After eating a lunch composed almost entirely of cheese, I decided that it would be a good idea for me to ride my DH bike cross-country.  So I pedaled up to the top of the mountain on my 40lb bike!  That definitely kept me warm!   I hadn’t completely decided if I wanted to race this weekend, as I wasn’t incredibly impressed with the two stages I’d ridden thus far, but wanted to check out the first stage to see how it would be.  I set out on the narrow ridge-side trail and quickly realized that this wasn’t going to be a climb like last week – this would REALLY be a climb! Like rock climb.

The trail was essentially a 1/4 of a mile across a scree field, and involved hefting your bike on your back and scrambling across the rocks to the start of the first stage – about 3/4 of a mile from the trail, but a 40 minute trek.  The first stage of the race was along the same ridge trail – cut sharply across the ridge, with loose rocks, sharp turns and a dramatic drop below the trail.  However, although the trails were largely unremarkable from a riding standpoint, the views were among the most stunning I’ve ever seen… a bad combination when paying attention to views results in wandering eyes…

Saturday night was amusing, to say the least.  After my cross  country adventure, I was starving, but the race bbq didn’t start until 8.  In an effort to get my mind off of eating my own arm, Fraser suggested we go bowling, which succeeded to divert my attention until the bbq smells began to waft in.  After eating, we were blessed with some spectacular French entertainment – a frenchmen singing Tracy Chapman, ZZ Top (complete with fake beard) and a variety of French country songs.  Needless to say, we called it an early night.

Sunday morning, I woke up with a casual attitude.  I decided to race, and was able to talk the promotor into letting me register a half hour before the race started.  I rode for fun, and enjoyed myself far more than the sufferfest of a race last weekend.  I finished the race and was simply relaxed and happy to be riding my bike in France.  I think I’ve realized that my trip is coming to an end and how tremendously fortunate I’ve been to have gotten this opportunity to grow as a rider, meet new people, spend time with old friends and explore new countries.  And apparently, in France I’m fast – I got 3rd!  Whoooo!  Hopefully my medal doesn’t weigh down my luggage too much!

Ciao for now…

Tuesday was a short drive to the nearby Bardonecchia, home to the Olympic village and the snowboard events, as well as a small number of well maintained downhill trails.  Although we managed to spend the whole day there shooting photos and riding, there were only a few trails to play on – needless to say we got quite familiar with them!  Wed was a further drive to the minimalist Prali resort (I emphasize minimalist… all the “toilets” are holes in the ground).  The mountain is staggeringly high, with a little double chairlift that rises straight to the top.   The race course, which is Prali’s standout trail, is easily the most difficult track I’ve ever ridden, and it’s technicality would rival any World Cup race course.  There is a kilometer trail to simply access the race course that has a mandatory 8 foot gap across a creek and another mandatory 5 foot drop off a bridge, along with several rocky chutes!  The course itself is rocky and blindingly high speed, but amazing and impossibly fun… not to mention exhausting!   We rode with the Argentina bike team again, before they took for an Italian cup race.

Today was spent in Montgenevre, France – a short half hour drive from Sauze D’oulx.  The Montgenevre trails are more freeride oriented, with tons of fun berms, ladders and drops.  We rode with one of the local bike park guides, who showed us all the trails and made fun of the Italians with me and Fraser.  We rode the entire day, with no breaks, no lunch, nothing – just loving the fast trails and mindblowing views.

Evenings have been spent in much the same way.  On of the local restaurants has opened its doors to our large group and has hosted us every evening.  Since I’m FINALLY feeling better, I’m starting to enjoy the local food – which is particularly tasty at L’Atalier.  With free food an never-ending bottles of wine, what’s not to like?  My only complaint is the pervasive Michael Jackson music, which is virtually inescapable at the moment and the Italian propensity to have conversations in doorways… but I’ll take it for what I’ve got!

The race format is entirely unique to any racing I’ve done before.  It combines timed downhill runs with cross country climbs between runs, essentially self shuttled downhill races.  Racers start at a proscribed time, and have allotted amounts of time to get to each downhill start, at which point the downhill run is timed and added to the cumulative time.  The first climb of the race was a particularly rough uphill on a steep gravel road, the morning sun already beating down on the riders. Having only brought my big downhill bike to Europe, I realized I was severely disadvantaged on the climbs, as most of the rest of the riders were riding bigger xc bikes, which are lighter and have more gears than the downhill bikes.  The first downhill run, which was actually used three times during the race was a bermy loose downhill through a field, with tight grassy turns that required much caution.

After a pedal through town, we hopped on the chairlift to the middle station and set off on a 7k climb on a gravel road to the top of the mountain.  I ended up walking my bike almost half of the road (and threw up once), but thankfully made it to the top with plenty of time.  The second downhill was about 4 miles – long for a downhill track and took around 17 minutes (very long) to complete.  After such an arduous climb, it was tough to force out sprints on flat sections.  This downhill was repeated for the third section, although we were able to ride the chairlift to the top, giving our legs somewhat of a break.

The 4th and final downhill section was my favorite – fast and steep, with one uphill loop for good measure (I simply ran up rather than trying to pedal).  Finishing and sprinting up down the hill to the podium finish was a terrific feeling, as I’d been out on my bike for nearly 5 and a half hours.  I’d been hoping for a podium finish (top 5) but missed 5th by about 30 seconds.  Next weekend we are racing in France, and having done one race, I know where I need to ride faster.  After a big dinner, I passed out – and finally caught up on some sleep!

The lunch conversation shifted to the afternoon’s plans, which involved a photo shoot for the resort and some local magazines.  Corsair bikes is the title bike sponsor for the resort and I casually asked if there were any bikes available for me to ride (cuz I wanted my picture taken, of course).  The European distributor for Corsair, Enrico, seemed pleased with the idea, thus resulting in me riding a flashy little orange Corsair for the afternoon.  Photo shoots are tough business though, consisting of a short run for the camera, and then a long walk back up the hill to do it again.  However, it’s still exciting and a terrific opportunity.

Riding bikes from 10 – 5 is a good life, a tired, contented state of being.  I’m sitting in the lounge, drinking a latte (the bartender asked, upon my walking into the bar, if I wanted a glass of wine… guess he remembers me from last night) and watching the storm clouds drift into the valley with relief.   We’ve been trying to have a sunset photo shoot at the top of the mountain, but after such a busy day, getting back on our bikes is less and less appealing.  Tomorrow will be much of the same – pre-riding for the race, possibly more photos, and definitely more pasta!  Although not a huge pasta fan to begin with, I may never be able to eat it again!  There’s just too much pasta here…

After meeting up with Fraser in Philly, we milled around in the international terminal for a bit, and eventually boarded our plane.  No sooner had the captain turned off the fasten seatbelt sign was the Ambien bottle in my hand… then the pill  in my mouth.  After a quick 20 minute episode of Arrested Development, I felt the lovely sleepiness kick in and started snoozing.  Our food arrived at some point, of which I recall giving most to Fraser and then asking him if I was really cross-eyed (apparently, yes).  However, the effect was as desired, since it is now 7 pm Italian time (11 am Colorado time) and I’ve been awake since we were woken up this morning.

Our flight landed at 6 am, a seemingly unnecessarily early arrival time, but worked out nicely for us – as it gave us the whole day to play.  We were greeted at the airport by Simon, a marketing director for the SuperEnduro race series who (after a coffee break) drove us up to the town of Sauze d’oulx, outside of Turin and the host of the 2006 Olympic Freestyle competition.  We checked into our hotel, marveled at the stunning views, and then jumped at the opportunity to get to ride bikes for the rest of the day.  The lifts here run from 10 am – 1 pm, then 2 pm – 5 pm, plenty of time for naps, bike assembly and snacks. The riding is very steep and very fast, but fun and we are eagerly anticipating the race on Sunday.

More to come on the race and pictures as they are taken… However, I’m sitting in the lobby of our hotel, staring at the spectacular mountains across the valley and am smelling something like fresh baked bread… gotta go get some of that!

So, upon waking up this morning, I looked out the window, saw the sun shining, and immediately thought – “Oh! What a beautiful day to work on my tanlines.”  I dressed accordingly and set out on my bike, painfully unaware of the fact that the temperature was only barely 40 degrees…   As people passed my they commented, “My, you must be cold!”  I could only think to myself, “Yeah, but at least I’m tanner than you…”

Thankfully for me, the temperature matched my expectations by the time I reached the base of Monarch Pass, and the sky was without a cloud and the weather truly spectacular.  The climb up Monarch is a formidable 9 mile haul, flanked by aspens and evergreens, providing sweeping views of the surrounding 14ers and the Gunnison Valley. Riders chugged up the winding road like ants, made minuscule next to the picturesque mountains rising in the distance.

Fueled by a breakfast burrito and a pack of cliff blocks, I literally rocketed up the climb.  While my training (or lack there of) seemed woefully inept when it came to the flats and distances, my quick trips up the canyons had clearly paid off.  I felt incredible, passing at least 200 riders on my way up… only to get to the top of the pass, click out of my cleats, set my foot on the ground, and promptly slip and fall directly on top of a pile of safety cones.  Hey, I guess we can’t win them all.   But at least I’m tanner than you.

So, Saturday morning, I packed up *almost* everything I owned (noteable exclusions include one bike and Baxter) threw it into my car, and hit the road.  We (meaning myself and two dogs) made it to Glenwood Springs late afternoon and met up with the parents.  After a terrifically indulgent dinner, I hit the sack early and tried not to be scared for the surely inevitable pain that would bestow me the upcoming week.

From the second I turned on the radio while driving over to the start, I knew my first day would be plagued by the most annoying song every permitted to breach the airwaves.  While no one ever seemed to know what a “brimful of asher” was in fact, but it’s obnoxiously catchy lyrics insures that it’s stuck in your head until you can find something catchier to take its place.  Thus, the first 65 or so miles were a forced repeat of this horrible song.  I actually relished the possibility of listening to some Bar lectures just to get the song out of mind.  The ride itself was really quite pleasant, notwithstanding the climb up McClure Pass.  The weather, despite the tornados in eastern Colorado was terrific, with one 20 minute wind and rain threat.

Upon reaching Hotchkiss, our first destination, I, as any RTR newbie would be, was concerned with where to set up my camp.  I found a rather undesirable tent site and begrudgingly set up shop.  However, after exploring around the school that was housing us for the evening, I decided to just move my air-mattress inside and sleep in one of the (seemingly) quiet hallways.  I set everything up, then set out on the town to look for some well deserved food.  I returned with a sandwich covered in sour cream and cucumbers (awe, my favorites *sarcasm*) and found my secluded hallway turned into a busy evening hotspot.  Thankfully, the combination of fatty food and extreme exhaustion lead me to pass out on my mattress.  And by pass out I mean it in the most literal sense.  It was 8:30 at night, in a fully lit and busy, noisy hallway and I was completely and soundly asleep in the middle of it all.

For those of you who know me, I have a persistent ability to sleep in *almost* any situation (the notable exception, of course being any and all moving vehicles).  And last night was no exception. I did not wake up for any of the noise that had transpired throughout the evening, but immediately jolted to alertness upon hearing someone proclaim (at 5:15 am) that “We’re out of coffee”!  I woke up, stumbled to the cafeteria, grasped a cup blindly and filled it to the brim with coffee.  I must have looked rough, because the woman working the coffee station even stirred my coffee after I drowned it in sugar.   After just  small amount of the wonderful life-blood, I was ready to rock, got my shit together, and hit the road.

Today was also a nice day, other than the 40 miles of uphill and headwind.  I made it to Gunnison on a tailwind and  way too many Gu’s.  I’m staying with Brit, a friend from high school and will likely pass out at 8 pm once again.  Thanks for tuning in… more later.

Parting thought: Does paying more and putting an Arxtery’x logo on your fanny pack make it cool?