Circa 1997, I put on the first cyclocross race at Wheeler Farm, in Salt Lake City. The 2 years prior, I had organized the first and second State Cyclocross championships since back in the 70’s. Longtime Utah race official Gary Bywater told me there were some cross races way back then. I’ve always had a love/hate relationship with promoting bike races. After 2 years of the Wheeler race, I handed the venue over to Matt Ohran, who has taken the ball and grown Utah cyclocross to where it is now. Note: Saturday’s race at Wheeler had over 450 competitors across all categories. The first race I promoted at Wheeler barely cracked 60.

I thought Wheeler would be a homecoming of sorts for me. Back in the day, many epic battles were fought at the front between Bart G, The Rev, Slyfox, Dangerboy. Bart won most of them, but on one cold snowy day, I did dethrone him thanks to having two bikes, little Tim with a bucket of warm soapy water, and some warm neoprene gloves. I had a few other near misses at Wheeler, but Bart was as hard to beat back then as he is now. The front group I just described above used to take a lap deep into the rest of the field. We were all pretty young back then.

My homecoming in the Singlespeed category was rather brutal on Saturday. Pro mountain bike racer Jason Sager took the holeshot, but I had the old juices flowing off the line, so I glued up to the rear wheel of his, ahem, mountain bike, and we opened up a sizable lead right away before the first singletrack. I bobbled at the end of the first long lap and lost his wheel, but kept him in site. On the second lap, 2 or 3 riders caught up with me, but I was able to settle in to the pace, no problem. Seemed just like old times, until I wrecked something fierce in the twisty singletrack, and that was just the start. I got up, and my bars were twisted. I had to dismount to wrench them into alignment with my front wheel between my knees, but I turned them too much the other way. Amazed that while I was off my bike, nobody came up from behind. In the process of wrenching my bars back into a rideable position, I moved the position of my front cable stop out of skew, putting undue tension on my front brake. I felt it rubbing, but had to get going again and just tough it out. Nothing could have prepared me for what came next.

As I approached the sharp right hand hairpin into the dismount and barrier section, the mere act of turning my handlebars caused my already-too-tight front brake to seize up and throw me over the bars, in the spectator section, no less. This one was tough to get up from, but the screams of the crowd egged me on. I rode gingerly through another technical section, still only one rider caught and passed me now after 2 crashes. As I picked up speed to close the gap, I was noticing my tires felt real soft. The next lefthand turn on the brick and cement, my front tire caved and I was in a heap. Game over. Welcome back son, to Wheeler Farm. Now go home. And home I went.