Pride rides with Olympic bobsledder

PARK CITY, Utah — The day's last sunshine peeks through a grove of bare aspens, bouncing off millions of ice crystals that constitute America's fastest bobsled track.

Curt Tomasevicz rolls up his sleeves. His eyes get big and his heart beats fast and his white gloves grab hold of a 462-pound black sleigh, “The Night Train.”

He pushed this hunk of aluminum and fiberglass to a World Championship in 2009 and a 2010 World Cup title. It might just carry him to Olympic gold in Vancouver; the United States hasn't won the four-man bobsled since 1948.

He and his three teammates bend their knees — “Back set, front set, ready!” — and fire in unison off the starting line. The clock starts at 15 meters. Soon the pilot jumps inside. Curt takes a few more steps, climbs aboard, folds his 6-foot-1, 225-pound body in half and holds on tight.

At 65 meters, the clock hits 4.89 seconds.

“Wow,” says an NFL coach, here for a visit, craning his neck to get a better look. “That's explosive.”

Curt Tomasevicz is the best American to ever push a sled, according to some on this mountain. He grew up in a Nebraska town of 690. His dad fixed combines, his mom taught art. In college, he juggled the Husker playbook with astrophysics and semiconductors.

But when he speaks to kids back home, they want to know: What's it like, Curt?

Picture yourself riding through a tunnel at 80 mph, he tells them.

Now take the roof off the car. Yank out the seat belts. Disable the air bags.

Drop down to 3 inches off the ground. Put your head between your legs, only a helmet for protection.

Turn the concrete to ice. Bring the walls in. Now twist the road like a garden hose.

“A lot of us have a screw loose somewhere,” Curt says.

That's what makes John Harbaugh nervous.

The Baltimore Ravens coach had flown here to observe world-class bobsledders and give a pep talk at their pre-Olympic banquet. But first, a post-practice, stress-free passenger ride with Curt and pilot Steve Holcomb.

Harbaugh doesn't let his millionaire players say “I'm sorry.” No slapping each other on the butt, either. He traded blows with Tom Brady and Peyton Manning on back-to-back January playoff weekends. The theme here?

Don't be a wimp.

The bobsled track consists of 15 turns, Curt tells Harbaugh, if you want to count.

“Four and six will get you,” Curt says. “And seven, eight, nine, 10. And the rest of them.”

“If we don't see anybody ever again,” Harbaugh tells a small crowd, “I just want you to know it was great.”

Then he enters the sled in front of Nebraska's sole Winter Olympian, a 29-year-old who has defied coaches, ticked off teammates and prompted razor-tough men to call him a hero. Slowly the Night Train picks up speed: 20 meters, 30, 40 ...

At 70 meters, with the sled approaching the precipice of this roller coaster, Curt turns back toward the starting line and — with a grin on his face — he waves.

Turn 1

Friday night, Shelby, Neb.

See the cars lined up on the main drag outside the A & B Lounge, teenagers releasing stress after another win.

See Curt and his buddies climb the grain elevator ladder — all the way to the top. Turn away as he streaks naked down the street, Halloween mask over his face.

At game time, mom cheered in the bleachers. Dad wasn't so lucky. He left for work at 6 a.m., spent 12 hours at John Deere, then took service calls at night.

Curt mowed yards. Detasseled corn. Watched farmers help farmers for free.

In junior high, the interest survey suggested he pursue plumbing. He wanted to pilot planes at the Air Force Academy. He had grades, test scores, everything.

Hear the crack three days before the Air Force physical fitness test. A Fullerton lineman fell hard on Curt's collarbone.

Try again next year, the academy told him.

Turns 2-3, an easy right, left

No, Curt took the Regents Scholarship to Nebraska. He walked to Cook Pavilion on a winter night in 2000 and tried out for the Huskers. Six of 119 made the cut; two lasted till senior year.

It wasn't easy, especially blocking Kyle Vanden Bosch in practice. “Meanest son of a gun,” Curt says.

See Curt on Saturday, sprinting downfield on kickoff coverage. See him study on Sunday, digesting matrix theory and differential equations.

The degree in electrical engineering — with a minor in astrophysics — looked good on a wall, but the big hit against Colorado tasted sweeter.

Turn 4, the fun begins: a hard left, slide high on the wall

What's next? Bobsledding? The sport made famous by “Cool Runnings”? In high school, he joked about it. One pilot, three push men, run beside a sled for five seconds, make the Olympics. Easy enough.

He found his old track spikes in a closet, made squats and hang cleans as routine as Frosted Flakes and OJ.

That summer, he joined mom and dad at the family cabin. He had news. He was leaving for Canada and U.S. team tryouts.

“I'm not asking for permission,” he said. “I'm telling you.”

Turn 6, a jarring right and five G's of force

First time on a track. Feel the bumps, the walls, the wind over his back. See only the floor. Wince in pain when the sled tips.

Each crash feels like a prelude to a funeral. Sledders fall out moving 80 mph. Shoulders drag. Heads hit the ice. Curt held on so tight during one crash that his collarbone detached from his sternum and a pectoral muscle ripped.

“But the adrenaline rush of overcoming that fear is kind of addicting,” he says.

The fast-twitch muscle fibers that made him a weight room wonder in Lincoln quickly turned heads at bobsled headquarters.

Sixteen months later, at 10 a.m. in Germany, coaches made it official. Curt found a phone and called mom, sleeping back home.

I'm going to the Olympics.

Next day, he checked his e-mail and saw more than 200 messages — most from Shelby.

Out of turn 6, top speed

See him walk through the tunnel in Torino, Italy, for the 2006 opening ceremonies. See the crowd waving American flags. He and the U.S. second string finish sixth — beating Team 1.

He came home, opened his tax statement and saw his income: $2,500. This isn't going to work.

Shelby helped. Raised funds with a street dance and a golf tournament. But what company wants to sponsor a bobsledder?

Curt went back to school and finished his master's thesis: “Semi-Markov Decision Processes for Power Equipment Maintenance.”

He thought about using that degree. Starting a life, finding a wife, taking vacations to Wrigley Field. He went back to sledding.

Turns 7-9, left, right, left

The next winter, he mastered the first 50 meters. He learned to be a bobsledder, not just a former football player pushing a sled.

To respect his body — don't play through pain that leads to injury. To train his mind for five seconds of fury.

Off the track, friends on the U.S. women's team devise ways to annoy him — a playful slap on the cheek usually works — just to see if he's capable of emotion.

Yes! We made Curt mad!

But on the track, he hears Pearl Jam's “Rearviewmirror” and his breaths quicken. His heart stirs. He stores energy and, on command, unleashes power.

“By the time I walk to the line, I'm almost on the verge of tears.”

Bobsledders typically come from football or track backgrounds. Curt might run a 4.5 40, but he can't run with sprinters. He recognized strength was his edge — so he got even stronger.

“He knows he can be the best in the world in the first 15 meters,” U.S. bobsled CEO Darrin Steele said.

He squats 528 pounds. But it's the daily dedication that humbles peers.

“Old Man,” the female bobsledders call him. Up early, never misses a workout.

“When we're on the line — you'll see it on television at the Games — these eyes that he has,” teammate Steve Mesler says. “On days that I'm a little bit sluggish, I just look at Curt and I know it's time to go.”

“He's like a sheet of armor,” coach Brian Shimer says. “I don't think anything bothers him.”

Straightaway out of turn 10

Coach doesn't see the relationships Curt neglects. How too often he puts the sport in front of family, friends, girlfriends. He doesn't want 9-to-5 and a cubicle.

But sometimes he wishes he had a wall to hang a picture. A home. Beats rooming with teammates in European hotel rooms the size of a gym locker.

He closed on a place in Colorado Springs last week, but renters will live in it before he does. Who knows when he'll be there to mow the yard?

Bobsledders, if they train well, can compete into their late 30s. And Curt doesn't like lying on couches.

In 2007, he joined USA Team 1 — best of the best. Two years later, the Night Train carried him to a World Championship.

The medal is stashed away in a box in mom and dad's garage.

Turn 11, hard left

Coach Shimer approached Curt's four-man team an hour before the race. World Championships were coming up and this race determined seeding. We're better off with a lower seed.

Don't make it obvious, guys. Just take it easy a bit.

Curt's response: “Hell, no.”

“I didn't feel comfortable not competing 100 percent when I have ‘USA' written on my back.”

That was the first time he angered teammates.

Turn 12, “Olympic Corner,” one of the world's trickiest curves

The second time? A month ago in Switzerland.

Mike Kohn, a 37-year-old teammate who serves in the Army National Guard, sat squarely on the Olympic bubble.

Twenty years bobsledding, only one Olympics. Last chance. Soon he'll be in Afghanistan.

Kohn needed a strong start. Coach approached the best push men. Would someone move down to third string to push Kohn?

Top sledders have their own interests, Kohn said. It's their job to win medals, not boost other U.S. teams to the Olympics.

Nolan Ryan didn't drop down to the minor leagues to help the Triple-A club make the playoffs.

But Curt volunteered. His first-string teammates frowned on it. He could've crashed. Tweaked a muscle.

Kohn needed 13th place. He finished 12th — home free by three-tenths of a second.

Afterward, he hugged his push man. Didn't say much, though.

“Honestly,” Kohn said, “I haven't been able to find the words yet.”

Turn 13

See John Harbaugh's sled come to a halt 40 stories below the starting line. Feel his back tighten, his stomach turn.

“That took 50 seconds?” Harbaugh says. “It felt like 15.”

Curt has squeezed into this sled behind guests Adm. Mike Mullen, Stephen Colbert and stars of “American Chopper.”

Only hockey legend Chris Chelios kept control of his wits. That changed when he heard the next sled down the track wipe out and slide across the finish line upside down.

“Did you see that!”

Turn 14, a 180-degree right

Listen to the phone call that Friday night in 2002. A friend calling with a ticket request. To a Nebraska football game? Tomorrow? Who's Jordan Hall?

Jordan Hall crouched behind the plate for the last out of the Little League championship game. Dog pile!

Two days later, an MRI discovered a brain tumor.

Three months to live. Four, if Jordan took chemotherapy. He started chemo, then sixth grade.

Three months passed. He felt good enough to see the Huskers.

So the backup linebacker called Frank Solich asking for help. And the next day, Jordan Hall and his mom went to Memorial Stadium. They met Curt.

Jordan went home and back to chemo. He sent Curt a thank-you, and Curt sent a letter back. When Jordan didn't want to talk to anyone, when he had a rough bout with chemo, he called Curt.

Curt visited the family farm near McCool Junction, Neb., riding shotgun on Jordan's all-terrain Gator. He went on a ski vacation with the Halls.

Jordan called a radio station on Curt's birthday, requested “And the Crowd Goes Wild.” He took Curt cookies before Husker road trips.

“We always knew Curtis gave Jordan strength,” said Phil Hall, Jordan's dad.

Doctors said three to four months. Jordan made it 21 months. He died April 19, 2004.

He was 13.

Curt didn't quit; he stayed in touch. Went to Phil and Wanda's to load grain trucks at harvest.

Last March, the Halls ventured to Park City to see Curt. Phil took the passenger ride. That night, he crossed bobsledding off his bucket list.

What's next, Curt said.

I want to see you win an Olympic medal, Phil said.

So Phil is taking his family to Vancouver. He'll stand along the icy track and chant “U-S-A!” He'll watch that 462-pound sled burst off the starting line.

He thinks a 13-year-old boy might be pushing, too.

Turn 15, almost home

In Shelby, a kid doesn't tell mom where he's going on summer days. He leaves the house, jumps on his bike, crosses Highway 92 and heads for the pool.

Sometimes Curt wakes up in the Swiss Alps, bites into breakfast and wonders how he got from there to here.

How the son of a combine mechanic in one of the flattest towns in one of the flattest regions of the American Heartland became one of the best bobsledders on Earth. An Olympian with gold at his fingertips.

What does it take, Curt?

Insanity. Intensity. Integrity. Inspiration.

What else? What's the fifth Olympic ring represent?

Imagination.

The nerve to see what no one can.

Climb the mountain, look out across the valley.

Strap on a helmet, jump in the sled.

And fly.

Contact the writer:

402-649-1461, dirk.chatelain@owh.com

« Metro/Region

Share