Breakfast fell victim to the flu. First the coffee burnt his oesophagus, then the aspirin slipped down the black film. It was that time of year again: once a year, the downhill race in Tabarz takes its toll on Sören Schmidt's immune system - or rather, the stress. This year, his head was pounding again and his fever-wet hands were slipping over the keyboard in the organisation office. For seven years, he has given his body over to this madness, despising his health more than the daredevils caroming down the mountain. He has his parents to thank for this, who imposed this burden on him before he could even write "Downhill".
The Deutschmark only rang in Harald Schmidt's wallet for six months. After that, the market economy put him out on the street. That was in 1991, unemployed in the new federal states - the rest is familiar from the news. But father Schmidt had made provisions. Six months earlier, he had a bike shop which now provided full-time maintenance. Along the way, Sören was strapped onto a bike and mum Schmidt sorted the bolts in the shop. Completely unknowingly, father Schmidt also sowed the seeds for the oldest downhill race in Europe.
The seed sprouted in 1991, at the Downhill World Cup in Kaprun, the year that Mike Kluge was swaying towards victory after a night of drinking. The Schmidt family marvelled at "Mike the Bike" and decided to do something similar in Tabarz - together with the bike dealer Michael Beckert from Gotha. Initially, the two bike dealers and their wives organised the race. Until the time came in 1993: at the beginning of July, the first downhill racers rumbled down the Inselsberg in Tabarz. A few years later, Beckert left the downhill business and handed over the reins to the Schmidt clan in 1998.
The turning point came in 2000, when mum Claudia retired. Since then, Sören Schmidt has been at the helm of the oldest downhill centre in Europe. Until then, he still had a grace period and was trained. Nevertheless, he doesn't work completely alone: his father runs the bike shop and his brother Norman has been the race director for the past two years. In the background, mum calms the heated tempers: be it with a little encouragement for the shuttle driver, who puts 800 kilometres of tar under his tyres at the weekend. Or patching up her son's nerves when a bomb threat flutters into the house - like this year.
The Schmidts themselves don't really understand the cult of their race. They suspect that it is due to the short distances. Even the drunkest bikers stagger from the nearby campsite to the start or the race office. The Schmidts ignore bureaucracy, which is not least due to the sparse help from the municipality. The event has never made any money, whether in Deutschmarks or euros. No Grundig Cup, VW Multivan Cup or the Bundesliga, all of which the downhill in Tabarz survived, helped either.
For 15 years, party animals and professionals alike have been plunging down the Inselsberg. Regardless of whether it's raining, the animal breeding co-operative is closing its meadow or the dedicated strippers can't be found. Every year, the Schmidts learn a little more to make the oldest downhill in Europe shine anew.
But one thing will never change: Sören Schmidt will be raiding the medicine cabinet again in mid-July. So that his health can race down the mountain together with the downhiller.
