Issue link: https://bluemagazine.uberflip.com/i/25038
-- N WI , m • Q) ..c:: .. � (II "": � CD n ... ,. 0 Q) - 1=3 m (II z � OJ.ituUl".pG �q Piol�t:iaC:Jl6 CpGlI1'� qG� n�A6�,r" I<.Ott 'lijG,3lil¥liitf Bsi&)J1J!aali' nD:GUn�pl .qlU.cp qua lD&IfJnr MIS. �___ . _ _ "When it came to race time I was already bagged [from] run- ning around organizing my flights, getting wheels built, tun- ing my bike, and trying to get components." The resources used to support just one downhill racer, depend m , tT'J 0 In 9 w hat the y 10 The y t e s Imp I'/., It's a gamble as precarious as their sport. According to e start of Andrew's downhill racing career serious promise. In 1991 he won a World Cup race in his first sea racing as a pro at the barely hairy age of 20. Natural ability and com at high speeds helped him achieve a string of top results which, in rn, led to serious sponsorships from KHS and Marin. But after the 1996 , Marin refused to re-sign him and subsequently dropped its whole hill program, leaving Andrew scrambling in the off-season in search a new sponsor. Trying to sell himself on average 1996 race results, he me out empty handed. In his attempt to get small sums of money and equipment, he became one of the "privateers," a growing population of young men and who scramble for bike frames, tires, wheels, technical support, iscounts, and small chunks of cash to keep them on the pro circuit. More often than not they're dipping into their own pockets (or those of parents and relatives) for support. Out of the 150 to 175 racers that may typically enter a North American pro men's event, 80 percent are privateers. Similar Sean McMahon, a rider and marketer for Troy lee Designs (a racing accessory company and significant supporter of downhill priva teers), riders sacrifice the here and now because, quite simply, "They are doing what they love to do." Sean recalls Eric Carter, a Troy Lee-sponsored rider who spent two years living and driving to races all over the country in a van, telling him, "I'm going to race until I can't race anymore." Sean explains that this is the type of pas sion and attitude necessary for success in downhill. You have to love it so much, you're willing to dedicate your life to it. Perseverence and passion paid off for Eric-this season he's got a full ride with GT. He no longer lives in a van. While drive, passion and, of course, talent are determining factors, it is impossible for someone to compete against top pros without all the high-tech gear. As a privateer, you've got to somehow get the goods. Going into a race with your standard $1,500 mountain bike is like going to a downhill ski race on a pair of untuned, beat-up 170cm Head Honchos-no matter how good of a skier you are, you will be in the back of the pack. How much does a good downhill bike cost? At least $4,000. Riders sacrifice the herf] anp now pecau1se, d ' qUI :;0 -r: _ v e to do. ing on salary, start at US$70,000 a year. The price tag, which includes everything from shorts to rental cars, doesn't include the money spent on years of research and development to arrive at a bike that is competitive in a sport measured by hundredths of a second. "The top rides," Andrew explains with a concentrated gaze, "have access to the kick ass shit. " That gear amounts to myriad parts from derailleur springs to latex tubes to high-tech front and rear suspension systems to seemingly unimportant II bearings-all of which contribute to a rider's success-or failure. And Its, in professional sports, are everything. percentages exist in women's competitions. Only a handful, no more than 30 North American athletes, Andrew explains, have full rides and actually make a living. The rest lay their life savings on the table in the hopes that they'll get a podium result and become part of that handful. a r l1, 44