Kings Of The Hill
There are parallels, I believe, between those of us who proudly identify as petrolheads and those who pursue speed in other forms. We can naturally gravitate toward one form of competition or another, and we do, but even among the forms of speed competition we may personally shun, it is difficult to entirely discount the elements we all have in common. Bicycle racing, America’s Cup sailing, airplane racing… there are obvious elements in common. Speed, technology, adventure. Raw courage. The ability to persevere and endure rather extreme physical and mental challenges, and make decisions in milliseconds, the results of which could very well mean the difference between success or grave injury. Even death.
Perhaps nowhere is this link more thrillingly evident than in FIS World Cup alpine ski racing, and specifically the downhill. I was reminded of this yesterday, as I watched the legendary Hahnenkamm event, held annually in Kitzbühel, Austria.
Even among ski racers, downhillers are a breed apart. Regardless of gender, downhill specialists are typically the swaggering alphas of the sport. The fighter pilots. The emergency room surgeons. Full of confidence and wearing their courage on their sleeves, as much a way of convincing themselves as others that they belong out there on the ragged edge. These are the men and women who put it all on the line, every event, nine or ten times a year, fully understanding that the winner is often the one who takes the most risk, and technical precision can be, and sometimes is, trumped by a willingness to put themselves and their bodies into situations from which they might not be able to retreat. Their names may not be familiar to you, but they are legends. Franz Klammer. Lindsey Vonn, Hermann Maier, Bernhard Russi, Bode Miller, Pirman Zurbriggen. And Switzerland’s Beat Feuz, who joined the halls of the immortals by winning’s today’s Hahnenkamm. And that’s a big deal, because the Hahnenkamm is a very, very big deal.
If the downhill is itself the most extreme expression of alpine ski racing, then the famed Hahnenkamm is the most extreme expression of the downhill. A vicious, gut wrenching descent that those who have skied it describe with many words, but usually “scary” factors high on the list. It’s a hill that combines all of the most difficult elements of the sport - bumps, technical turns, high speed turns, jumps, glides… all packed into a merciless series of terrors that come at you, rapid fire, one after the other. There is nowhere to rest. Nowhere to regroup. From the starting wand to the finish line it is a breathless, punishing wormhole of fear and exhilaration.
And the Hahnenkamm is only one event in the season. There are others, each with their own challenges. Each with their own hidden threats. Val Gardena in Italy, with its “Camel Humps,” the second of which can see racers launched more than 80 meters through the air at nearly 100 miles per hour. Garmisch-Partenkirchen in Germany. The Lauberhorn in Switzerland, one of the oldest alpine races on earth, and so long and physically punishing even the fittest athletes find themselves starting to black out towards the finish, as the blood from their body is redirected to their failing leg muscles.
You may not watch downhill ski racing on television, and you may have never clipped into a pair of skis, but if you have ever felt the thrill of speed, the exhilaration of adventure, or felt the cold clammy hand of fear as you push yourself to the absolute limit and beyond, then you share something with the men and women who ski the downhill.