RACERS EDGE

Chris Richards Arizona Daily Wildcat Pro racer Dan Dietzel competes in the cross-country race stage of the Cactus Cup mountain bike race, held in Scottsdale in March.

Caked in a patina of sweat and dirt, spit, salt and sometimes blood, he and the three other men who make up Tucson's Fly Racing Team compete for hours, hammering their bikes until their lungs burn and legs buckle. They race until they puke, and then they race some more.

When the dust settles, one of them - Taylor, Dan Dietzel, Dave Rimron or Justin Peschka - is often on the winner's podium.

But as the team's founder and manager, Taylor is quick to point out that the racing is just half the struggle. Beyond the glory of weekend competition, there are the weekday struggles of sponsorship, training and financial solvency.

"It's a full-time job," said Taylor of his efforts to keep the team afloat. He pauses for a moment, then corrects himself. "Make that full-time and a half."

Stepping into the midtown home and headquarters of Fly Racing, it's easy to see riding bikes is their job. Bikes hang from the walls and sit propped up in every corner of the room. Demanding almost as much space, however, are a pair of broad desks with a no-nonsense computer, phone, fax and stacks of paperwork. It's the heart of the Fly Racing publicity machine. Bookkeeping and mountain biking are an unlikely combo - about as far apart as Yhatzee and pro-wrestling - but they're the yin and yang of running a team, said Taylor, a communications senior at the University of Arizona.

Racing mountain bikes is an expensive proposition, he explains. The money for bikes, parts, entry fees, food, travel and lodging has to come from somewhere. As a result, team members find their time divided. There is that which they want to do: ride and race and win. And there is that which they must do: a delicate corporate courtship that makes it all possible.

The team was formed two years ago, dubbed "Team Fly" because flies, like the team members, are small and hard to catch. Before the addition of 6-foot, 6 inch Justin Peschka this year, the team members were all 5-8 or under.

"He's our token six footer," jokes Dietzel, himself about 5-6.

Originally, they simply hoped to pay for their racing habits. Competitive riding requires bikes costing upwards of $2,000, and wear and tear takes its toll. There are expensive repairs, upgrades and dozens of tires - which, at $50 apiece, cost as much as those on most cars. The races demand a slew of $25-30 licenses, memberships and entry fees for each rider, with team fees on top of that. There are travel expenses, team outfits, health insurance, and of course, food. A rider in training can eat 4,000 calories a day, maybe more. Sponsorship seemed like the way to go, says Taylor.

Taylor dreams of a $30,000 budget for Fly Racing - about the average salary of one factory team rider. Instead, when you add up the numbers, they get by on less than a third of that. It means some creative financing, and with little time for outside jobs,Taylor and the others can often be found selling off anything they're not riding.

Taylor's vision is a tenacious one, though. To attract more sponsors, the team has evolved into what he describes as "a professional marketing group," complete with sales pitch, press releases and glossy brochures.

"It's 'extreme sports' marketing, and it sells everything these days, from tacos to phone cards," he says.

"I want to give the sponsors more bang for their buck," Taylor said. "Simply putting a name on a jersey isn't enough."

He sees the team members as "walking, talking three-dimensional billboards," promoting their sponsors on the race course and off. The team even does publicity appearances and bike-skills workshops.

A stroke of good fortune - and a good personal contact - connected the new, untested team with the bicycle manufacturer KHS last year. The Carson, Calif.-based company took a chance and provided the team with top-of-the-line mountain bikes. Fly Racing rose to the occasion with a string of victories and top-three finishes in statewide races, culminating with former team member Randy Gibson's first place finish in the last year's Mountain Bike Association of Arizona's state final.

Their early success earned them - and KHS - a fair amount of attention. Still, Taylor takes nothing for granted, describing their relationship with the bike manufacturer as a "trial sponsorship." He knows the company expects something in return for its investment - publicity that ultimately translates into sales.

"On a regional level, the team's success adds a lot of credibility to our bikes," said Marty Meres, outside sales representative for KHS and a ongtime friend of the team members.

"It lets people know that the products can win races."

Peschka, who's raced semi-professionally for years, takes that kind of responsibility in lanky stride.

"You have to be conscious of it, " he said with a shrug. "People ask me about the equipment all the time, but I'm pretty happy with all of it, so it's not that hard to talk about.

"Plus, if you do well in a race, and you're riding a particular kind of bike, people notice."

Peschka, a physiology senior and coach of the school's cycling club, has been doing well so far, taking first place at a recent statewide race outside Phoenix.

He's not the only successful team member, either. Dietzel, a biochemistry senior, recently won a stage of the Cactus Cup, a prominent national race held in Scottsdale in March. His victory came despite a crash, described only as "self-induced," less than 1,000 yards from the finish. He's currently ranked in the top five pro men in this year's Mountain Bike Association of Arizona series.

Gibson and Taylor are both among the top ten expert riders in that same series.

To train, the Fly boys put in between 15-20 hours per week, almost entirely on road bikes, which offer a more consistent workout.

Beyond the "saddle time," they employ heart rate monitors, daily mileage logs, stretching, weight-lifting, and massage. Just as important are mental preparation, proper rest and good nutrition, though Dietzel, nicknamed "Sug," swears by a steady supply of oatmeal cream pies and Red Vines. The hours add up, barely leaving time for school or work; few racers boast rich social lives.

"It's a lifestyle," Taylor says, with a hint of a resignation.

Hard work pays off though, and with the team's success and diligent self-promotion, they've attracted more sponsors. Most provide something the team can use and promote, like Tuscon's Innovations in Cycling, Inc., makers of patch kits, tire inflation cartridges and the like. In exchange for producats and financial support, the team gives Innovations valuable feedback on racers' needs, said Dave Burnham, Innovations' director of marketing.

"I'm inundated with requests for sponsorship, but Dan (Taylor) came down and made a very convincing presentation - and it was reasonably priced," Burnham said.

Some sponsors, however, have no direct connection to bicycling. The team has worked out an arrangement with the Campbell and Broadway Alphagraphics store, primarily because owner Jay Guyot is an avid cyclist. That contract has evolved over time in an attempt to find what works best for everyone, Guyot said. In the long run, winning is less important to him than connections.

"It's way in the back of my mind," he said of the team's success. "I'm more focused on how we can benefit each other."

Currently, the team gets a little cash and a commission on all business it brings in, he said. In turn, anyone referred by Fly Racing gets a discount on their printing.

As clever as that arrangement is, it's probably the last thing on team members' minds come Sunday - race day. It could be any of the 40 or so races they'll compete in between January and October, all across Arizona and neighboring states. The location, terrain and scenery may change, but the routine is the same: long drives, cheap hotels, endless last minute bike tuning and always that spike of starting-line nervousness.

The races are part competition, part carnival, with a makeshift camp of brightly colored vendors tents, food, dogs, dust and mind-bogglingly expensive bikes. The bulk of participants hail from Arizona - the Phoenix area in particular - but Utah, New Mexico and California license plates dot the parking lots. Many come and camp for the entire weekend, and the atmosphere is relaxed, even festive.

The riders dress in a jester's motley of tight-fitting, brightly colored Lycra. Clothing and bikes are covered in logos, a bit like stock cars. With matching red jerseys, bright yellow bikes, shaved, muscular legs and bug-like sunglasses, the Fly boys fit right in.

The race course itself is usually a seven or eight mile loop of rugged trail and rocky fire roads, with stream crossings, drop-offs and plenty of grueling elevation gain thrown in for good measure.

"The only thing you can expect is that whatever you expect will be wrong," Taylor said.

As pros, the team members compete for four laps, often in the heat of the day. It's three solid hours of aerobic suffering, but Taylor takes the larger perspective.

"Hey, you live a long time - three hours is not that long to be in pain," he said.

When things go wrong during a race, they're on their own. Taylor rattles off a litany of troubles they've overcome: multiple flats, broken chains, snapped pedals, bent rims, dislocated shoulders, bloody knees and bikes suffocated in pounds and pounds of mud.

"Sometimes your whole world is mud," he said, laughing.

Mud, in fact, haunts Taylor's dreams. Keeping the team afloat is like running uphill, bike on his back, knee deep in the stuff, he said. Every step forward is grueling work, and there's always the danger of slipping back down. Taylor and the others accept that, though.

"It's a struggle," he said with a smile. "But if racing has taught me anything, it's that that's what life is all about."