Embarrassed at Woodward

Karl Elsass reminded me of this incident a while ago, and although it's best told in person I think it's worth writing here. And it includes a cameo appearance from Kip Williamson:

During the summer of 1988 I worked at Woodward as a flatland instructor and junior counselor (which simply meant that when we weren't riding I was washing dishes). Each week the instructors and visiting pros would get with the campers for a question and answer session. All the campers would sit on the floor inside one of the barns, while the instructors/pros would sit in chairs at the front of the room. I was at the front of the room with maybe 10 other guys, all big-named riders except for me. I can't remember everyone up there, but I do remember Joe Johnson was sitting next to me, along with Rich Sigur, Mike Miranda, and I wish I could remember some of the others. The point is they were all famous and I was an unknown.

One of the campers asked, "What was the worst wreck you've ever had?," and it was a question addressed to all of us up front. Worst wreck? Have I ever wrecked? I couldn't think of a time that I had ever really wrecked. I was the last guy in the line of chairs, so I had some time to think about it. As each rider answered the question the stories of wrecks got more and more intense. Bones ripping out of the skin, broken necks, bike parts piercing the body, etc. And with each story the response from the campers got louder and louder--"Oooooh!"--"Whoa!"--"Holy Shit!" It seemed as if the momentum of these stories was all leading up to some sort of grand finale. But I was the guy in the last chair, an unknown flatlander from Ohio, whose mind was blank. I remember how freakin' nervous I was. I didn't have a good story like the rest of the guys, and I definitely didn't want to look like an ass in front of Joe Johnson.

"How about you Andy?" It was my turn. I stared out into the eager eyes of the campers. I felt expectations were high and I couldn't disappoint. This is the best I can remember it, and my story to the campers was true:

"A few months ago I was riding some trails by my house. In one area of the trails it dipped down into a deep and steep ravine. Coming out of the ravine was a huge jump that would launch you into the freakin' sky. Not many riders had attempted this jump, but I was going to hit it for all it was worth. I wrapped my fingers around my grips, put my feet on the pedals, and just started cranking toward that jump. [At this point in the story I remember trying to drag it out as long as possible.] It was a hot day and the trail was really dusty. I kept cranking faster and faster, getting closer and closer to the jump. Now, to back up a bit, I usually ride 175mm cranks on my bike. But on this particular day I was riding a bike with 180mm cranks, a little longer than I was used to. [The campers were hanging onto my every word. This better be good.]

"As I approached the jump, I was of course pedaling, and as I was pedaling I would naturally throw the bike back and forth from side to side. Well, I must've been throwing the bike too far to the side because out of the blue one of my pedals suddenly dug into the dirt. Have you ever been pedaling your fastest and had your pedal dig into the dirt? [I was stalling the best I could.] Let me tell you, it's not fun! [At this point the campers are wondering if I'm for real. I'm wondering the same thing.] When that pedal stuck into the dirt at mach 5 my bike grinded to a sudden hault. I remember being thrown into the air, and I could see the trail below me. [My voice is getting more and more dramatic.] Looking in front of me I saw it coming. But I couldn't avoid it. I was thrown into it. And then it happened. [Overly dramatic ending...] I landed...in a big...prickly...sticker bush!"

That was it. That's all I had. It was a true story, but compared to looping out of a no-handed air in the Pipeline and having your handlebars pierce through your stomach, it was pretty lame. And definitely a lame grand finale. I looked out at the campers and there was dead silence. No one said a word. The pros didn't say a word. I was on my own.

So in a nervous knee-jerk reaction I reemphasized to everyone: "It was a REALLY prickly sticker bush."

Nothing. After a few moments of silence, a lone rider in the back of the room shouted out, "Alright Andy! You rock!" It was Kip Williamson. After that everyone laughed and my story was retold over and over again in the days to follow, as if I planned the whole thing to be a joke.

Kip you might not even remember that day, but in my teenage mind you saved me from looking like a total ass in front of my heroes. And for that I give you a late, but well-deserved THANK YOU.