MOUNTAIN LIFE - Blue Mountains | Spring 2020

56 Coldest, Wettest, Muddiest: Cyclocross Teamrunner It’s an odd type of job that encompasses both the best and worst of outdoor experiences, and for me, that job was managing a professional cyclocross team. Cyclocross is what happens if road cyclists and mountain bikers got together and decided to create a course that runs through fields, into woods, on pavement, and involves some off-bike obstacles where you literally run holding your bike. Oh, and it’s done primarily in the coldest, wettest, muddiest months of the year. In short, it’s the best sport in the world. I’ve been racing it, writing about it and loving it for a decade, so when I was offered a job to run a professional team and travel North America and Europe to do it, I jumped at the chance. And then I ordered new galoshes. I should have just ordered a full rainsuit immediately, but being a fashion-conscious team manager, I froze in stylish tights and merino wool sweaters through the first season, traipsing through thick Belgian mud with a backpack stuffed with gels, water bottles with very specific drink mixes, wipes and towels, and a camera. During the race was the easy part—I ran around the course and tried not to slip-and-slide through the muck, shooting photos of the racing action. Maybe, if it was a big race in Belgium, I found time to hit the frites stand for some hot food (but mostly just sipped a protein shake). On one memorable occasion, a race had such steep banking on the course that as I pulled my way up using the rope they’d tied to a tree at the top, a slightly drunken cyclocross fan managed to slide into me, spilling beer down my coat and knocking my feet out from under me at the same time. Covered in mud and smelling like a brewery, I grimly made my way to the finish line for the last moments of the race. And then, there’s the the finish line. If the race didn’t go well, there was some muddy hugging to be done, and some minor consoling. Often, by this point, I’d be coated in mud and slightly soaked but able to hop in a warm van and change quickly. But if the race went well, that was when the job got hard. In 30 seconds, Wild West gunslinger style, I’d pull out the water bottle with pre-mixed recovery drink, shake and hand it over. A jacket would go next, often dragged on over a layer of mud caking my poor racing friend. Once that was done, we’d end up in a tent where I would half-heartedly try to wipe mud off of their faces (and out of front teeth) to make them camera-ready as steam literally poured off them and my hands shook from the cold. Getting a racer dry and warm while waiting for an interview is no small task, but after two seasons, I was the Wyatt Earp of the finish line, with a fanny pack and an easy-access backpack at the ready. And yes, I was the one in the full rainsuit. –Molly Hurford A drunken cyclocross fan managed to slide into me, spilling beer down my coat and knocking my feet out from under me at the same time. MOLLY HURFORD