Somebody left the pipe outside last night and it froze good and hard, so the left wall was a collage of McTwists and backside airs while the right pumped large methods and superior style. A few spectators lined the banners, some photogs took aim, but nobody was allowed to dance on the deck cuz the T.V. crew on hand ran a tight ship, despite the fresh flow of tunes rattling from the speakers. Quick to scold any soul who got in their line, we were all pinned to the banners fearing the betacam wrath.
The boob tube posse had the place bugged too. Furry phones lined the pipe for audio effect and each rider got a big lens and a mic in the face as they unstrapped. It was all dialed like a NASA launch.
Sitting purdy, hovering above the hype, hiding his big fat grin was Danny Kass who knew exactly what to do with this big trench and flat light. He took six big hits including some wacky sort of 900 whirlybird and a McTwist that would boggle your balls.
Ross Powers took second like a pimp. Señor Magnus Sterner walked with third, but all the while he and I knew who went biggest. He's the man if you ask me, but I ain't here to judge...just to relay all the happenings. Dig?
My only question...what's up with a gloveless Jerry Tucker? Man, weren't your digits cold?
As for the chicas, Trycia Byrnes scooped the coop for the second comp in a row. Ripe off her win in Breck, she scrambled the whites, drank the yolk and went bigger than all for first. No ketchup needed, just slightly salted 5's and a side of methods. Second went to Gretchen Bleiler and third to Kelly Clark. Word up ladies.
After smashing the pipe, those with a chance ran to their cars and revved for Mont-Sainte-Anne, Canada, where the World Cup tour is shaking its tail. Drive all night and strap in on Sunday for yet another superpipe.
The afternoon stumbled along and we rolled to the slopestyle park which went like this...
Riders tried to file all the paint off a rail, then the volcano kicker spewed spins as riders prepared for what came next. A backside quarter pipe and a tabletop rail hovered over a big Okemo box, but the wise tucked right past them both and went nose to the bone for the transfer gap, where the bun left the mustard and a few ate the dog. Following the tables, they charged a buried bus, sliding the top or launching the length and well that's about all.
Jason Borgstede almost put the hurt on when a cameraman stood atop one of the last tables as he attempted to launch, which sent Borgstede flailing onto the landing. He wasn't about to take no shite either. He marched back up the course, told the flake what he thought, then broke down the officials. He was given a rerun for interference — deservedly so.
With three riders left, the rain poured and the spectators split. I dashed for home and on the way, I passed a grom with bleeding nose who busted his chops sledding a side slope of the course. As I was typing just that, my nose started drooling blood too. You think I'm kidding? Okemo is unique, you see; it's as if someone's watching you, much like the betacam boys on the side of the pipe, but since we're all friends, I feel all warm and cozy like a stack of flapjacks. I'm hungry.
Giant slalalalom kicks tomorrow. Judging from tonight's downpour, it should be icy.
— Lucas Kane, MountainZone.com Correspondent
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Giant Slalom
