The beginning of Semis saw the Team split. There were those bright souls enjoying quick, painless, fun filled tours up to Red’s slackcountry stash, Grey Mountain, and those competitors who qualified, swallowing down nervous bile belches as the sled towed us up the back of cloud shrouded Mt. Doom, sorry, I mean Mt. Roberts.
The short boot pack up to the peak was a purgatory awash with anxiety, excitement and nervous pressure in your colon as your body screamed to relax the sphincter. But alas, the venue induced a pucker rather than the sweet release of feces. The central chute is a steep, northwest facing, rocky couloir strewn with shredable features that even Freddy Cougar would choose to rip over a throat.
Visibility was terrible leaving the competitors alone for most of the run with only the judges to see. The exception being the bottom of the venue; all the riders stuck around to cheer on competitors as they sped down the final section of the course. The cheers and cowbells from your competition and peers was enough to kick out the lactic acid in the quads and go big on the final two cliffs, Faggletooth and Bald-aron. Whether you stomped your landings or ate serious shit, the freeride family at the bottom welcomed one and all with open arms and frothy beers. (Unfortunately we don’t have any photos of the bottom of the venue).
After the rider’s meeting the Team was vamped up and ready to start slamming down Caribou’s. With the vast majority of the Team unqualified for finals (everyone except for myself, Ian Brown or more vastly known as the King of Freeride Team) the party was on. As for me? I modified the old saying from “If you can’t beat em, join em” to “Beat em, rub it in their faces and then drink their beers and steal their women.” The night was pretty standard; male nudity, bearskin fights and Tarzan man swinging body-slap jousting.
