Martin City barstool races are cause for excitement, and drinking

The Daily Inter Lake

The sleds were ready at the starting line atop Sugar Hill. Limber pushers gripped the sleds' handles, ready to provide the kinetic energy the riders needed to make it to the bottom. A crowd of racers, well-wishers and drinkers yelled and cheered while the riders took their places.

Tina Syme, an eight-year title holder, hunched over the handles of her sled - basically a barstool on skis. Her daughter, Maria Page, sauntered over and pointed to a decal above her back pocket: "Kiss my patch." Then she, too, mounted her barstool sled.

"I ain't gonna be able to kiss your patch when you're eating my dust, woman!" Syme yelled defiantly.

Pete Ciambra, a 15-year racing veteran, reminded the women of the rules. No interfering with the other rider. Pushers can't cross the foul line.

Then, with a "ready, set, go!" and a cavalry charge played by a bugler clad in a Canadian Mountie uniform, Syme and Page hurtled neck and neck down Martin City's Central Avenue to the cheers of hundreds of screaming, slightly tipsy, onlookers.

They come every year in droves to watch Martin City's barstool races, a nearly 30-year tradition of homemade sleds, wacky outfits and copious amounts of alcohol.

The races are one of the high points of Cabin Fever Days, the Canyon's annual winter celebration. Many show up solely for the barstools and beer, but there's a good cause underneath the ruckus. All proceeds from the event go to local groups; this year's recipients are Head Start and the Martin City Rural Fire Department and Quick Response Team.

A man known simply as Markie Mark has come for the last 11 years. He claims to hold Big Mountain's record barstool racing speed - 69 mph.

He says he'll never do that again, but he won't give up racing altogether. This year, he was prepared for a crash.

"My mom made me get a helmet," he said, strapping on a giant black helmet that completely obscures his face from view. He looks a little like Rick Moranis' Dark Helmet character in "Spaceballs" as he slings a leg over the motorcycle body bolted to skis to make a sled.

At the starting line, Will Hampton gripped the handle of a flimsy-looking barstool sled in one hand and a red plastic cup the other.

"Don't make me spill my drink," he warned his pusher.

An onlooker eyed Hampton's sled warily.

"It looks a little green," the man said.

"It'll be all right," Hampton said, taking a swig from his cup. "It'll work."

And it did - for about 30 yards. Then the sled started to slow, and Hampton was forced to use his feet to make it to the bottom of the hill.

Markie Mark met the same fate a few races later, probably weighed down by his giant helmet.

Jan Caldwell's Polebridge Express, a red plywood box car on skis, was more successful. So was the hot pink outhouse with its toilet-paper ribbons.

The latter was a crowd favorite, in part because of its loud paint job and partly because of its success on the hill.

About halfway down the slope, when the outhouse began losing speed, the doors burst open and Tracy Stevens, hunkered down on a wooden toilet seat on skis, flew out and zipped down the hill. The crowd yelled appreciatively and raised their cans of beer while rider Adam Albin continued to steer the outhouse down the hill.

"The rules are it has to be kinetic energy only," Ciambra said to one astounded spectator. "No motorized. But that's legal. That's legal."

It's only the second year they've raced in an outhouse, Albin said, but he and Stevens, both of Columbia Falls, aren't novice racers. Before the toilet, they used recliners.

For over an hour Saturday, racers in various stages of inebriation slid down Sugar Hill. Onlookers dodged out-of-control sleds and cheered for their favorites. Finally, when the beer ran out and finalists were declared for today's races, the crowd trudged down the hill.

They'll return today when the races resume at 1 p.m. The final races are scheduled for 3 p.m.

Reporter Kristi Albertson may be reached at 758-4438 or by e-mail at kalbertson@dailyinterlake.com