Michelle Dumaresq Raises Hell

You Are Here:

Home >> Michelle Raises Hell (cont.)

Today's Question
How do you make primitive snowshoes? answer

What should you do if you get lost driving in a snow storm? answer

Today's Question
What is the greenest ski and snowboard on the market? answer

Can I really damage a coral reef with sunscreen while snorkeling? answer

What kind of dog will make me look manlier? answer
Is there a sport that safely combines my twin passions for guns and kayaks? answer
How come most of the world's cultures enjoy eating goat, but Americans don't? answer

Online Favorites

Special Issues

Photo Galleries

Outside Magazine

Page:

Michelle Raises Hell (cont.)

"COMPLETE WORLD DOMINATION." This is Dumaresq's goal for 2004. She plans to quit her job manufacturing aluminum boats in Vancouver and move to Denver with her girlfriend. The strategy is to amp up her high-altitude training and start winning on the NORBA and World Cup circuits. Given her history at the worlds—25th at Kaprun, in 2002, 17th at Lugano, in 2003—that's a long shot. Downhill biking is all about strength, technical virtuosity, and guts. Dumaresq's got the strength, certainly, and the moxie: She pushes the win-or-crash line; she fell in nearly every 2003 race she entered. Each time, she stubbornly got back on the bike, convincing herself, as much as anyone, that she's got what it takes.

Domination was the objective of our road trip from Vancouver to Big Bear Lake, California, last May for her first NORBA race. She'd been laid off from her job, so for a few glorious, hungry months, she was finally a full-time professional athlete. Of course, that didn't stop her from chain-smoking Marlboro Lights or, when we hit L.A., making a beeline for Saddle Ranch, a cowboy-kitsch club on Sunset Boulevard where, two margaritas, a taco platter, and several Newcastles later, she had the best ride of the night on the mechanical bull.

When we pulled into Big Bear in her battered Nissan, it was evident that Dumaresq had arrived in the big leagues. The competition, including Team Luna Chix's Marla Streb, the 38-year-old U.S. national champion, had set up camp in air-conditioned tractor-trailers outfitted with massage therapists and full-time mechanics. Like the Luna Chix riders, Dumaresq is sponsored by Santa Cruz, but when she approached Rob Roscopp, the company's founder, he didn't have time to talk. She was crushed.

The racers, however, were very aware of her presence. Ever-hyper Missy Giove seemed frustrated that Dumaresq was getting so much attention when the best riders were struggling to get any at all. At the same time, Giove is one of her biggest advocates. "She's so fucking cool; she's fucking super, super dope," Giove said between waving at friends and answering her cell phone. "Michelle goes slow right now. If she speeds up, I'll be totally happy for her. But I might go out and do some more research if she was beating me."

Dumaresq placed 11th at Big Bear, ten seconds off British racer Fionn Griffiths's winning pace. In Vancouver, I'd seen her ride things that were exponentially more hairball than this. It occurred to me that back home, Michelle rides like a guy. But nerves started working on her in the California sunshine. This time, she raced like a girl.

Michelle Dumaresq could have done the easy thing—if there is an easy thing for a transgender person in the 21st century—and stayed on the North Shore. To enter into the world of elite racing and excel at it is to huck into seriously sketchy terrain. But there are days when it's worth it. On Sunday morning, Giove, standing casually on her pedals, coasted by Dumaresq on her way to the start house.

"Hey, girl," Giove called out through her full-face helmet.

Dumaresq looked up and heyed her back. It was all she needed.

Page:

•	Subscribe to Outside and get a FREE Gift!

•	Give the gift of Outside Magazine!

•	Subscribe to Outside Online's free weekly e-mail newsletter featuring gear reviews, fitness advice, galleries, podcasts, and more.