Taking on Sochi's Olympic Downhill

Perhaps I’m biased, but to me, nothing at an Olympic Winter Games rivals the sheer thrills, potential dangers, and riveting drama of the men’s downhill.

A few winters ago at a World Cup test event, I was fortunate to have the chance to navigate my way down the steep and sinuous Olympic downhill course at Rosa Khutor.

On a spectacular gondola ride up the Kavkaskiy Express – the third of three gondolas needed for skiers to reach the Rosa Peak Summit from the Krasnaya Polyana base village – during a mild, bluebird early afternoon in the Western Caucasus Mountains, I was accompanied by Swiss racer and 2010 Olympic giant slalom gold medalist, Carlo Janka. We ascended sharply over snow-swept cliffs and jagged rocks exiting at the 2320-meter Rosa Peak summit.

I wished Janka all the best for the upcoming race and after taking a moment to admire the panoramic views, I plunged off Aibga Ridge, quickly making some warm-up turns in the expansive snow-packed bowl which awaits skiers and boarders. The downhill starthouse is nestled 275 meters below the summit.

After first scouting the top of the course from the slope above, I was able to make my way into the starthouse to obtain the racers perspective. Impressive, intimidating, daunting and exhilarating were all thoughts that crossed through my mind. Racers get a splendid view of the snow-capped Caucasus peaks in the distance, while a steep and relatively narrow chute immediately awaits.

The remoteness and sheer vastness of the area quickly becomes evident – this despite the 24/7 construction occurring just down the mountain and in every direction surrounding Krasnaya Polyana. Scoping the barren mountainsides and rugged peaks in the near distance provoked a relaxing, calming sense of being. From this perspective, you can’t help but ask yourself, "The Olympics are really going to happen HERE?"

I discreetly made my way onto the newly unveiled course. My adventure took place following a men’s training run preceding the upcoming World Cup men’s downhill. It was, undoubtedly, a memorable, hair-raising, and adrenaline-pumping experience.

Just out of the gate, the upper section is quite narrow and after roughly 15 meters precipitously drops off like a frozen waterfall. At this point, fear set in. Just earlier, my trusted friend and media liaison for the U.S. Ski Team, Doug Haney, had warned to be careful, advising that the top is icy and gnarly.

Not wanting to disturb the Russian course workers honing their newfound trade or whatever ski patrol may or may not have been in the vicinity (I didn’t notice any and not sure if they do exist here), I proceeded cautiously while still trying to savor the moment.

Despite my fair share of adventures on skis, taking risk on everything from East coast bulletproof ice, narrow Wyoming couloirs, and steep and deep Utah powder, I certainly wasn’t going wasn’t going to put the throttle down and risk testing out the red safety nets flanking the course.

Bear in mind that downhill race courses – typically injected with near freezing water to harden the surface – more closely resemble ice hockey rinks than soft, snowy slopes. I exerted pressure on my edges like never before and side-slipped down parts of the course, doing my best to stay upright.

As the 3,495-meter-long Bernhard Russi-designed Rosa Khutor course eventually widens, I managed a few awkward-feeling turns that would have made Aksel Lund Svindal wince, fighting to dig my edges in as the track twisted and turned over ridges and through steep ravines.

Moving onward down the lengthy, leg-burning, oxygen-depriving course, the confidence grew ever so slightly. Although I was avoiding any-and-all air off the numerous jumps, dips and rolls, carving sweeping super-G like turns on the future Olympic terrain provided about as much satisfaction and fun as one can have...well, at least on two skis.

The final jump leading into the finish is downright terrifying, especially if you imagine racers fearlessly rocketing themselves off it at speeds in excess of 100 Kph, where on February 9, every hundredth of a second will be critical to the world’s premier downhillers chasing medals.

I lingered at the precipice and glanced down at the finish area in sheer awe. Yet again, making sure to avoid any unnecessary air, injury, or embarrassment, I pointed the skis straight, dropped into a semi-tuck and took off, rapidly gaining speed down the final pitch. I sped through the finish of the future Olympic downhill piste, knees and body intact and surprisingly no one in sight.

Written byBrian Pinelli

For general comments or questions,click here.20+ Years at #1: