THE STORY
City officials have estimated a $35 million economic impact since USA Cycling made Knoxville, Tennessee, its home for the Pro Road National Championships in 2016. And at least $200 of that total went to fund the dunk tank that sat majestically atop the highest point on Cottrell Street in South Knox on the final day of this exquisite 7-year run of racing on Sunday, June 25.
What started as a small gathering curated by Jordan Kear and John “Fish” Fischer has turned into a maniacal lynchpin of the course, safe for people of all ages and enjoyed by riders and organizers year after year.
Sherrod Road gets all the love. And for good reason. It has cemented itself throughout the national racing circuit as the perfect mix of beauty, difficulty and fanfare. The canopy of greenery enshrouding the steep incline is pristine, and the switchbacks and hills present the most challenging parts of the course. And the people lining the course there go wild … just not Cottrell Street wild.
Over the years, I’ve moved around the course as a spectator and member of the media.
I remember the finish line being just a few yards from the front door of Barley’s in the Old City the first year the race was held in town, as well as the pub crawl and drinking games that took place in between the times when the riders would zoom through. I spent a couple of years watching at various points on Sherrod, too. It’s a party up there, no doubt, but I didn’t really know anyone, and as a result I never was able to really find a comfortable place to land long-term. Then last year, BLANK editor Matt Rankin urged me to walk down the hill from his house (we live one street away from one another) and back up the rise to the top of Cottrell Street, where a much smaller but perhaps even more dedicated crowd gathers each year.
It was hard not to chuckle immediately upon arrival. Having watched the race in highly congested areas in the past, I didn’t know that the riders would routinely dispose of their empty water bottles on the course to make room for new ones. As we crested the hill to get settled in for the afternoon race, I saw dozens of those bottles in the back of a makeshift hockey net with Aaron McClain, brewmaster and proprietor of Crafty Bastard, manning it in full goalie gear.
“Yes, this is the place for me,” I recall thinking.
“The idea was to just have a little fun,” says McClain. “There’s a drop zone where the cyclists drop their empty water bottles so they won’t be all over the city, and [Cottrell Street] is close to the drop zone.”
Over the course of the day, myriad bottles were thrown, with very few making it past whoever’s turn it was to mind the net. It was hilarious, delightful and just an incredible way to experience the race.
But with this year being the last in Knoxville (for now at least), the Cottrell gang knew they needed to raise the stakes. So what’s the best thing one could possibly procure to engage people hurling water bottles at a target? Yep, you guessed it: a dunking booth.
“We did the hockey goal thing with targets on our clothes for years, and it was time to step it up,” explains McClain.
With some last-minute arrangements and help from some friends, the stage was set for the final year of shenanigans to be the best one yet.
Kear knew the efforts were going to pay off before the race even started. “I could hear the officials on the radios before the race laughing and saying, ‘The guys with the hockey net have a dunk tank this year.’”
RACE DAY
Sure, the weather on Sunday proved to be an obstacle for the riders, but the rain and cooler-than-expected temperatures also presented challenges for the people occupying the booth. Kear, Josie Landback and Fish alternated duties throughout the day, with McClain doing spot work to fill in the gaps. It was Fish, however, who would serve up the most glaring helping of perseverance on the day.
Fish’s commitment to the tank was matched only by the riders who rode past. When a throw got even remotely close to the target, he pulled a makeshift trigger and down he went. But midway through the afternoon race, the moment we had all been waiting for finally occurred.
There was a small pack of cyclists who had fallen back from the leaders and the main peloton and seemed destined to fall short of the podium, but for them, another – perhaps even more legendary – victory awaited. An unexpected shot at glory, a mulligan for ultimate, historical success.
As the triad rounded the corner to make the slight climb before the descent, we all could feel something magical was about to happen. The chants of “Dunk that punk!” were well received as the riders grabbed bottles from the holsters on their trusty two-wheeled chariots of destiny. They were fully loaded and ready for this, the most important moment of their lives.
“Dunk that punk! Dunk that punk!” The fervor reached levels previously unseen.
The first rider cocked his arm back and fired.
Narrow miss.
An “ahhh-” flowed through the crowd, but before anyone could complete the fourth “h,” the second rider knighted himself with a direct hit to the center of the target.
Bullseye.
It was a pick-six, a grand slam and a buzzer-beating three-pointer all wrapped up in one. Fish took his bath, and this regal, unknown speed racer sailed into the distance as king of the Cottrell Crazies.
It wasn’t over, though. There’s a third rider coming, and we’re all still celebrating the direct shot. Uh oh.
Perhaps out of frustration or perhaps simply due to misguided aim, the third bottle flies directly through the crowd.
Oh no.
After sailing directly over my soaked mess of hair, the bottle lands directly into Rankin’s face. Had the rain not matted down my mop, surely it would have absorbed some of the blow.
We check to see if he’s OK, but I saw it happen. I saw that beautiful stiff brim of the 40-year-anniversary WUTK hat take the brunt of the force. Rankin has not stopped celebrating. He’s in the full throes of pure bliss like the rest of us. Everyone’s fine. Everyone’s a winner. Nothing else matters.
Fandemonium reigns.
THE FUTURE
At the end of the day, Fish, Kear, McClain, Landback and Phil Rowe, another of the organizers, made sure that there was no trace of anyone ever having been there. After all, Hillcrest United Methodist Church had been kind enough to let the crew set up shop near its facilities and use its parking lot (on a Sunday, no less), and for that everyone showed immense respect and gratitude.
Rumors abound about this particular series of races coming back to Knoxville after a few years away, and some have said that USA Cycling could bring a different race to Knoxville in the near future. When being interviewed on local ABC affiliate WATE, one of the tournament directors said, “If you want to have a long, long relationship, you have to give a community a rest.” I dunno, kinda sounds like they’re coming back to me.
In the meantime, the Cottrell crew will have some time to dial up the next activations.
Heck, if they’d let me, I’d help ‘em do it. The atmosphere already feels like a music festival there, and that’s why these events are so important to Knoxville. They build community and breed creativity and create lifelong friends.
“It’s a small community, and a little shenanigans go a long way,” adds Kear. “The laughs and camaraderie that came from getting everything set up were unlike anything we’ve done in the past.”
After the tank was drained and everyone began reflecting on the seven-year run, Fish summed up the sentiment best.
“It’s like when you wear a gorilla costume on the beach,” he explains. “People just want to interact with you. KPD would point at the target, and we would pull it. The ambulance would honk at us, and we’d pull it. At one point, a pace car stopped and someone got out of the back and ran over and hit the target. It’s a way for the racers and officials to interact with us and it’s a way for us to be a part of the race, too.
We’re all having fun in an anonymous way. It’s an event that we knew we could have an impact on just by being ourselves.”
rusty@blankenws.com
