Pretend It’s a Forest – 8/13

The Downieville Classic is an annual mountain biking festival celebrated since 1995—an event that makes you count down the days if you’re into an adrenaline rush, have a death wish, like to party in the mountains, or, of course, if you’re a local business. This is “The Best Weekend of the Year,” or so they advertise. The race supports Sierra Buttes Trail Stewardship’s trail work; in simple terms, trail construction and maintenance throughout the Sierra, which translates into outdoor experiences and world-class events—aka more tourism and work for the small communities connected by these trails. Something everyone can get behind, right?

Nonetheless, this year felt off. Maybe because I’m more aware of the realities of Downieville and our neighboring towns, and now, with our small coffee cart El Pinche Spot (not a paid ad), I saw the race through local eyes rather than as a spectator watching a carnival roll into our rural town with its booths, novelties, and acts.

Part of that “off-feeling” came from hearing local business owners who were disappointed, bummed, and rightfully upset by the lack of communication between race coordinators (who were locals once) and third parties gatekeeping information (who shall remain unnamed). Somewhere along the way, communication broke down, and business owners were caught off guard by what seemed to be the first year—or so they say—of outside food vendors being invited to the festivities. The idea itself wasn’t bad: ease the pressure on local restaurants tasked with feeding the masses and bring some gastronomic variety to town, which I do appreciate. But somewhere between intention and execution, it became something else.

Instead, some local restaurants felt left behind, even after weeks of preparation: hiring extra staff and stocking up for foot traffic that never really showed up. By the end of the weekend, they felt like they didn’t belong at their own town’s event; and maybe like they didn’t want to be part of it anymore.

If only a few businesses actually benefited from this year’s race, it raises a simple question: what’s in it for Downieville if an event that depends on the town starts to feel disconnected from it? As someone with no power in this town but plenty of observations, here’s my list of things to look out for next year:

• The 3 C’s: communication, coordination & consideration. A concept that should be common sense, but as we know, common sense isn’t common at all. A town hall with all parties involved seems basic: business owners, event coordinators, and nosy locals like myself. Keep the agenda light: communicate the event logistics, coordinate with your local hosts, and consider the community you’re impacting. Ideally, this would be moderated by a neutral party with no stake in any of it. I vote for a bear, the Pope, or someone who doesn’t have spandex, nylon, or polyester as part of their daily wardrobe.

• Shutting down Main St.: While the race trails end near Main St., local residents who don’t race—or care about riding bikes—lose driving access to their homes. Some accommodations should be provided to make amends: a trip out of town (Hawaii or Cabo, for example), golf cart shuttles into town, or at least unlimited beer passes to make the walk more bearable.

• Town takeover: Let’s put it this way: tourists are welcome, morons are tolerated, entitled people are not. Just like a carnival can bring crowds, noise, and spectacle, then pack up and leave, remember that Downieville is still here when everyone goes home. Don’t treat it like a town takeover. You’re a guest, even if it sometimes feels like you own the place. Be respectful. Thank the locals for keeping this town alive—and for bearing with you. Celebrate the locals who were part of the race (special shout-out to Seth, who aims to win next year), pick up your trash, and while we’re at it, invest in better deodorant. There’s no shame in that.

As we prepare for next year, I’m a firm believer (praying) that this miscommunication wasn’t an act of pettiness and that things will work out better next time. As we say in México, “El sol sale para todos”—the sun shines for everyone—a phrase you might want to add to your repertoire. But for now, locals, old-timers, newcomers, tourists, bikers, and visitors from other galaxies, let’s pretend this year was just an odd one. After all, “The Best Weekend of the Year” should be something the whole town counts down to, not something we count down until it’s over.