ARCHIVE INFO RATINGS (scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being absolutely sick, phat, gnarly, the shizzle, whatever your choice of adjective, and 1 being downright awful)
So maybe 633 miles doesn’t seem like a lot when you’re the kind of person who loves to drive, but on back to back days it sure can make a weekend seem longer…I’d been looking forward to going to the American River Festival (americanriverfestival.org) for some time, and since Shane Bolling (from Ripboard) had announced on his site that there would be a big boardercross race, I was stoked. Little did I know that the fun from the weekend would be more from the adventure of the whole trip than from wild and crazy whitewater. But fun it was! Docta P and me, the IceMan, rolled into the American River rainforest late Saturday afternoon, and were amazed at the scenery – in a matter of a few minutes we had gone from the boring, flatland of the Sacramento valley to climbing a narrow, cliff-hugging road in what seemed to be a jungle deep in the heart of Central America. Far below us we could catch glimpses of swirling whitewater dotting the lazy ribbons of blue, and as we wound through the steep hills we passed from torrential downpour to blinding sun – it was a real montage of nature’s finest. Docta P said it reminded him of West Virginia, but I wasn’t worried about getting mugged by kissing cousins - I was thinking Howler monkeys!
As we climbed higher into the hills a brilliant rainbow stretched out against the lush green backdrop, leading us, as it were, right into the sleepy little whitewater town of Coloma. It was not the only rainbow we would see this weekend – in fact, it was as though the area was Yahweh’s testing ground for prisms or something, because they seemed to be flying in abundance.
We rolled down to the park to check out the ‘course’ and were dumbfounded – this was it? We drove almost 700 miles for a ¼ mile stretch of Class I greenwater? I had been picturing a 1/4 mile of pounding Class IV that would test even the most world class kayaker...I had never raced in a boardercross race before, though, so the whole thing was completely novel to me. And while we had a good laugh about the ripply water (it’s not the river’s fault, it was really trying hard to be more ripply), I was still excited bcoz the lure of the unknown adventure loomed around the next morning’s bend. Since nobody was around we decided to go look for the stretch of water that fed into the park, a stretch of Class III that the Ripboard guys were probably running at that time (we got there too late to join them). Um, we didn’t find them or the river, mainly bcoz the road runs about 1,000 feet above the river – and that makes visibility for scouting rapids a wee bit more difficult. We did see a lone female driver fishtail her Mercedes off the road, though, destroying 10 lengths of white picket fence, all 4 tires, and a pine tree. There was no cell service, but a couple of other cars stopped to help her, so we rushed off to find service and make the 911 call, saying a prayer on her behalf at the same time.
The helpful operator told us that rescue crews were on the way, and seeing that the lady had several people helping her and appeared alright – although stunned – we drove on, doing our best to refrain from making any blonde/female driver/John Rocker-esqe wisecracks. (Honest, we were respectful – it was probably a scary lesson for her…but get off your phone! It’s raining and the road’s curvy! Um, and hey, in case you didn't notice – there’s no cell service!) Anyway, IceMan & Docta P, heroes... Ok, maybe not. It’s always fun to call 911 though, isn’t it? The rush of dialing the forbidden digits, one by one…the serious, calculating, this-is-no-laughing-matter-and-I-can’t-wait-to-get-off-in-20-minutes-to-get-a-cheeseburger voice on the other end of the line, wanting to know where I am and if I’m wearing clean socks… Anyway, if nothing else I drove a bit slower around the curves, which was probably a good idea considering the white lines marking the edge of the road extended out into space over the chasm, and guardrails – who, what? Guardrails? After getting directions from a sweet little lady at a convenience store, we made our way through Timbuktu and descended down past the reservoir to the put-in at Chili Bar. It was starting to get dark so we didn’t run it. Well, ok, it was starting to get dark AND we only had one car, which meant we’d have a very long walk back if we ran it. So we didn’t run it. We did drive back to the park though and I ran the course a few times just to see what it was like. It was, ah, well, it was wet and trying to make it through ALL of the kayak gates was an immense challenge. I’m glad the boardercross rules allowed for some skippage. Or did they? I doubt anyone knows for sure. After hearty Chimichangas at a Salvadorean restaurant in Placerville (highly recommended), we drove around looking for a place to rest our heads for the night. Normally I’m at least halfway organized – this trip, though, for some reason I barely managed to bring my gear, let alone maps or hotel listings. (I did remember my IceMan superhero foods though!). So we ended up, an hour later, calling it a night in the cozy confines of my SUV across from the waterpark.
Ok, so now for the part you’ve been wanting to read about…the boardercross race! Well…not much happened for a looooong time in the morning, as organization was just kinda flowing wherever time led it. That’s cool though, I’m wired that way so it wasn’t a big deal. I chatted with the Ripboard guys (they have a couple of young guys that they sponsor as well), took a trip down the course on their board (it was fast bcoz of the sleek plastic), hung out, ate my superfood, waited, waited, ate some more superfood, waited, talked to a guy who, upon introduction, said “Now me and you both know yo mamma didn’t name you Ice!”, waited some more… The race was to be divided into 2 sets of 2 heats, with the best average time as the winner. Well, originally that's what was said. The rules changed several times though, to the point where when all was said and done I don’t think anyone really knew what the rules were. I’ll leave it at that. Suffice it to say that I won my first heat, a Ripboard sponsored rider won his first heat (soundly beating his boss), and I won the race-off with him. That’s all I can say without cracking up, bcoz it ended up being like gradeschool altercation on the playground, where kids fight over what the rules really are and who should win. Then the bell rings and recess is over anyway. Someday maybe I’ll go into detail. I found it immensely humorous, although I felt bad for the younger rider who got royally shafted - I’ll give him props though, he raced me hard. I also have to give props to the organizers of the whole festival, they were really cool about everything.
On the way back to P-town we stopped at the world famous Olive Pit for some of their amazingly delicious stuffed olives, and spent the next 10 hours with the radio on scan (I forgot the CD’s too) jumping between Garth Brooks, Celine Dion, and Metallica. Random is good. The final hilarious straw for the trip though came somewhere on I-5: We’re driving along and all of a sudden Docta P is like, “Whoa, look at all the sparks coming off that vehicle! Look, it’s on fire!” Sure enough, a van on the side of the road was on fire. And less than 100 yards in front of it, lights flashing, was a cop car. But no, the cop wasn’t putting out the fire. He was giving someone a ticket. Apparently they teach peeps in cop school that driving over the speed limit is much more dangerous than exploding chunks of flaming metal.
So that’s my story. Yes, I forgot the important stuff, like a map and a camera. We did get a lot of good video, but, er, we’re still figuring out how to get it onto the computer. Thus the kleptoed stock imagery. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again! I’ll get some footage up as soon as I can! Please, don’t flog me! ~IceMan~
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