Ninety degrees and 108 smiling riders at the start. Pissing-down rain and a couple dozen grim survivors at the finish. In between, 139 miles of road racing down the dust-choked catechism of Oh My God Road, up the soupy switchback of 11,617-foot Guanella Pass, and across the windswept rollers of South Park, where a 20-year-old mountain biker taught three seasoned pros -- Scott Moninger, Carl Swenson and Chris Wherry -- to "respect mah authoriteh!"

 But seasoning proved to be the order of the day -- this was, after all, the Celestial Seasonings Zinger Cycling Challenge -- and the valiant Jess Swiggers finally switched roles from Cartman to Kenny as his breakaway companions fought the final battle on 11,541-foot Hoosier Pass.

 No shame there. Mercury's Moninger is 13 years older and wiser than Trek-VW's Swiggers, and he'd done a lot less work in the winning break than the eager youngster, saving himself for a flurry of attacks in the final climb.

 Moninger had more than a minute on Swenson as he crested the summit, and while the Tokyo Joe's rider hung it out on the wet, treacherous descent into Breckenridge, his Mercury rival held him off long enough to collect the $15,000 check for winning what was arguably the toughest one-day road race in the United States.

 Everyone's A Winner, Bargains Galore. When a promoter tells you he's trying to "capture the public's attention" or "set a new standard" for something, he's generally talking made-for-TV California trash sports on a par with the X Games, the WWF and the 2000 presidential campaign.

 And I feared that this was what we could expect from the Barnumesque Zinger, with 14,000 feet of accumulated mountain climbing through God's firing range during lightning season; insane dirt-road descents with more hairpins than a Tenderloin drag bar; and the prominent "No Vacancy" sign hung out for elite women and the lesser categories of both genders. Even Moninger said afterward he thought it was too bad that a race had to be this crazy to get attention.

 I hadn't planned to give the Zinger any attention at all, since I couldn't race it, didn't believe in it, and couldn't earn a wooden nickel writing about it, starting as it did in VeloNews's back yard. But a last-minute chat with VN techno-geek Charles Pelkey soon had me motoring north with a Steelman and a sleeping bag under the camper shell, geared up for a short Friday on a 'cross bike and a long Saturday in a media vehicle.

 Are We Having Fun Yet? Maybe it's that I haven't ridden out front at an elite American road race since I covered the Casper Classic. Maybe it was the lively company in the Press 1 vehicle, which included Coors Classic frontman Michael Aisner; Mo Siegel, founder of Celestial Seasonings, with his 9-year-old son, Luke, a football fan; Denver Post sportswriter Natalie Meisler; and Performance.com's Fred Matheny, who has been writing about bike racing longer than I've been doing it, and still does it better himself.

 Whatever. Everybody should get a chance to see a race this way. In fact, promoters should raffle off chances to ride in the media vans, because the lucky winners would spread the good word faster than the common cold.

 When a beefy Texas rider shot off solo in the early going on Highway 93, Aisner chortled, "The race is over!" Siegel -- who had wondered aloud during the sparsely observed neutral parade through Boulder, "Michael, did we publicize this route at all?" -- spent much of the rest of the race sitting in the rear passenger's window with one arm draped across the roof, shouting, "Thank you! Thank you!" to the cowbell-jangling tifosi, curious tourists and mostly gruntled motorists briefly sidelined along the route.

 Along Highway 72, the racers high-fived a bunch of shrieking kids leaning out of a school bus. An SUV full of what Aisner termed "celebrity dinosaur cyclists" slithered up and down the race caravan, cadging a few hundred bucks for a lanterne rouge prize for the last man to cross the line and suggesting that the wind-dodging Moninger should have raced the 45-minute women's criterium held concurrently in Breckenridge.

 No one could question Swiggers' stones, though. He took the lead on Oh My God Road, ground solo up Guanella sans rain jacket for what seemed like forever only to be dealt a puncture on the downhill side, then chased back to the lead trio up Kenosha Pass and along the rollers of South Park before finally getting spit out like a chunk of roach-flavored PowerBar on Hoosier Pass.

 Let's Get Ready To Rumble. But the best part of a seven-hour ride in a media car is the fireworks near the end. Fred and I were thinking that Moninger had to launch on Hoosier, but knowing how strong a crit rider he is, we wondered whether he might wait for the final go-round in Breckenridge.

 Nah. He attacked again and again until Swiggers, then Wherry, then Swenson went away. Then he slalomed down the far side into Breck, punched the clock, and started looking for a warm place to towel off.

 Epic stuff. Must have made great TV, though Charles and I didn't get back to Golden until the show was three hours in the can. But while it's a new Zinger, it's the same old world, and anyone expecting the instantaneous, phoenix-like rebirth of the Coors Classic in a state ruled by 7-mpg housemobiles has seen "The Matrix" too many times and should be kept away from the "Purchase" button on his DirecTV remote.

 Just ask Mo Siegel. While delivering a play-by-play précis on the art of bicycle racing to Luke in the way-back, Mo asked his son, "Isn't bike racing cool?"

 "Uh huh," Luke replied. "But I'd rather be watching football."