In 10th grade I went to my first bike race at a place called Grand Geneva in Wisconsin. It was a very unusual bike race, but I didn't know that I lacked any frame of reference. I thought all bike races must be on the grounds of huge mansions with nice facilities, a swimming pool, a small airstrip and even a little ski hill. The race course went up and down the ski hill and over the wooded grounds, and after the race we had our pick from tables loaded catered food. I found out later that the first venue for the race had fallen through, so the organizers ended up holding it at Grand Geneva -- which used to be a Playboy mansion. Basically, the lavish facilities, catered food and generally well-organized event ruined bike racing for me. From then on it was tipped-over outhouses, maybe a free banana and Clif Bar, and throwing up in overflowed trashcans.