Jessie McAleer & Doug Tucker Take Middlebury/Suicide Six Combined - by Jennifer Calder
Local Vermonters at Rosie's engaged in a debate about whether it was 17 below or 37 below zero, a point that was largely moot--cold is cold. When they learned there was a ski race at the Middlebury Snow Bowl, they shifted uneasily on their stools, exchanged one of those looks people share when they abruptly realize they are in the presence of someone not totally in possession of his wits, and assured us, "Well-sure's hell won't be nobody else up there with you."
But the story of the day wasn't the cold, it was the course. Always the most challenging GS on the circuit, the Middlebury Ski Club raised the net this year. They tested our ability to ski-to descend, propel through flats and rolls-and to inspect. An outsider witnessing inspection might have supposed this was some bizarre religious ritual rather than a sporting event, as skier after skier gasped, "Oh my God!" Indeed the course put the fear of God into many of us and we gained deeper appreciation of the emotional state of the Christians as they were tossed to the lions, as the course zigzagged across the headwall, launching us over the icy lip on the fallaway line, aiming us toward the woods before flattening into the roller-coaster section. The second run was a looser set, permitting a straighter line down the front. Just before start time the final gate before the flat was moved into more direct alignment with those above it. "Aw-you're taking out the jump!" complained the forerunners, young males with more bravado than brains. "No," Pete Donaghy explained. "This is so if you get a little too much speed coming off the top you won't have to crank that tight turn, you can just hang on and let the flat slow you down." Oh, so this was a safety procedure. See, to the untrained eye the idea of hurtling off a cliff at warp speed looked dog-dumb dangerous. It became clear the Goddess Nike had abandoned most of us, and the race turned into skier Armageddon, but the toll was taken in the final third of the course, not at the top. Many of the more aggressive skiers met their Calvary in the one-two punch on the final pitch, underestimating the treachery of the ice, the physics of angle and velocity for those turns, and the flat light. Those who successfully navigated through those turns and dropped into their tuck, but who had failed to carefully inspect the last 3 gates, were deceived by the optical misrepresentation of a straight line and shot straight by the final red gate. Half of the 20 women DNFed or DQed. Twenty-Six of the 102 men.
Vanquishing gladiator was Doug Tucker. While many of us hoped for divine intervention to get us through the course, Tucker gave credence to early beliefs in the semi-divine as he attacked both runs like a Pit Bull. Behind him by a second and a half, evidencing that race advantage might have favored the chronologically advanced, was Class 7's erstwhile Rumanian World Cup racer Dorin Munteanu. If your start order permits you the pleasure of watching this guy's run, it's worth the price of admission. Quads like King Kong, he powers through a course like the Amtrak through a small town. Last year's winner Bob Hill finished third, just two-tenths of a second ahead of Tip Kimball, and John Pierce, positioning himself to challenge for the combined, careened in for 5th. Nobody got near Jessie McAleer's times in this race; she had a decisive lead in both runs. Little Tracy Boulter, exhibiting the unflinching grit of a bullfighter, took control of that course for second, about a second and a half ahead of Lori O'Brien.
We had a great day. The post race raffle featured a cornucopia of gifts donated by sponsors Denby Pottery, Alpine Racing Technology, Florian Tools, Buchika's Ski Shop, Atomic Skis, Swix Wax, and Moguls Mountain Travel. That red glow in our cheeks wasn't from exposure to the cold, but from the satisfaction of a battle well fought. The Middlebury Ski Club did us the honor of recognizing that we do this because we enjoy a challenge. They've got the hill to do it, and they got us out of our comfort zone. ' Becha not one of us thought about our jobs or Saddam Hussein for a good six hours.
The GS was the first stage of this year's combined, and notwithstanding Saturdays' decimation of the ranks of potential candidates for that honor, about 115 racers showed up to compete in Sunday's Bunny Bertram Memorial Slalom at Suicide Six. The mercury registered minus 38, but the cold had become old news--eventually it did warm up to zero--and most of us merely nodded in acknowledgement of the shared discomfort as we got to the business of course inspection. Both courses were state-of-the-art slaloms, kind of like mutant GSs, and they had fun rhythm. As always, those able to carry speed onto the flat prevailed in this race. Snow was near-perfect for the earlier racers, but the top 5 gates opened up huge trenches by the lower classes and that course kicked and bucked and tested strength, flexibility, agility and attitude.
The race featured the season's first Super Seed. The 10 fastest men from the first run, decked out in neon-yellow bibs, knees pounding like the drum riff from "Wipeout," defying the laws of physics with gymnastic displays of balance and strength, thwacked their way through the course to the delight, hoots, and cheers of onlookers. Scott Smith, who reports he has not raced in 20 years, secured about a half second lead over John Pierce in the first run. But Pierce, with that flamboyant "he's-up-he's-down-he's up" style of his that enables him to get back onto the tails of his skis and catapult forward into hyper-drive, had the fastest second run time, achieving the improbable feat, given the terrain and 34 gates, of a tie for the men's Bunny Bertram Award. Class 5's Mark George, sixth after the first run, pulled off a spectacular 2nd run to finish about a second behind the leaders. And Bob Hill, ever a guy who can flatten slalom gate against a hill with an authority belied by his grace of movement, finished 4rd.
New mother Carolyn Beckedorff, baby in tow, showed up to win the women's Bunny Bertram Award. Jessie McAleer secured a solid second, and Margaret Zuccotti has just gotta be training on the side-she exploded through the course for third.
Only 7 women and 47 men finished both races to qualify for the combined, a distinction which this year was rewarded by Atomic GS skis donated by Florian Tools and PD Circuits. Jessie McAleer, ever-ready with a cheer of support and a word of encouragement to her fellow racers, gracious and humble in victory, commandeered an unassailable lead among the women. Tracy Boulter took second, and Class 8's Anne Nordhoy, who never fails to inspire awe among her competitors with her grace, skill and mental toughness, finished 3rd. The men's winner came as no surprise. Skiing like a guy who's been dealt a no-trump grand slam hand in bridge, Doug Tucker walloped his way through the slalom course for a 6th on the day, good enough to keep him ahead of the threatening onslaught of John Pierce. Bob Hill's combined time over the two races was only about a half second behind Pierce, a single extra jab of an edge on one of the 144 gates we negotiated this weekend. All the finishers of the combined had a shot at a third pair of skis, the recipient to be determined by our own survivor reality game. Five names were randomly drawn from a helmet, those 5 to be eliminated by a second draw until the last man was left standing. Bob Butler had a good weekend. Not only did he survive Saturday's GS to finish 3rd in his class, he survived the final draw to win a pair of Atomic slalom skis.
The codgers at Rosie's may rightly question our sanity, but if you have to question why anyone would willingly commit to this sport weekend after weekend, you aren't going to understand the answer. How can you share with people the truths we've all found: that we don't stop playing because we get older, we get old because we stop playing; and that persistent effort, not inspiration or innate talent, yields the finest products. Next week we few, we happy few, we band of brothers, leap once more into the breach at Bromley and Stratton. |
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