Rebel on the Edge

By Bill Saporito

In Europe, where he is a celebrity, Bode Miller has stood at the top of slalom runs and listened to 50,000 Austrians chanting "Bo-de, Bo-de." They know that his eccentric skiing style--butt back, feet forward, hands flying--and utter disregard for actually finishing a race, never mind winning it, will often produce compelling sport. In the combined downhill in the 2002 Salt Lake City Olympics, Miller was a nanosecond from disaster when he made what might have been the greatest 60 m.p.h. recovery in the history of skiing to claim a silver medal. He either lands on the podium or on his posterior.

He is the world's best ski racer, but whatever the result, he laughs it off and maybe has a beer afterward. Or two. In a world where winners get endorsements and losers work for the ski patrol, Miller actually believes in that old Olympic canard that it's playing the game that counts. "Despite all the pressure and the caliber of accomplishment, I still can honestly say it is not all about winning," he told TIME during pre-Olympic training at Colorado's Copper Mountain. The important thing to him is to try to ski well--to improve, to reach his own goals--and most important, to have a good time.

Last week it was his mouth that went off course--blew out of its bindings--after Miller admitted on 60 Minutes to skiing a race hung over. He was "wasted," as he put it, after securing the overall World Cup title the day before. In its promos for the show, CBS said he skied drunk, which Miller denies. But he has never been the least bit shy about his apres-ski technique. "There's been times I've been in really tough shape at the top of the course," he told 60 Minutes. The statement was typical of Miller's quirky, uncensored self, but it quickly snowballed into a crisis. With controversies about sexual harassment, citizenship and team selection already dogging Olympic athletes in skeleton and figure skating, U.S. Ski and Snowboard Association (USSA) officials hurried to Miller's next race venue in Wengen, Switzerland, reprimand in hand. In apology, Miller said, "The message that came through is not what I'm about in any way in my sporting career."

Say hello to skiing's wild child, a mountain prodigy who grew up plumbing-free, electricity-free and constraint-free in a house hand-built by his parents in a forest near Franconia, N.H. As a kid, Miller spent as many winter hours skiing at nearby Cannon Mountain as he did in the classroom. In his teens, he was all but dismissed as being uncoachable. But, last year his World Cup triumph was the first by an American in 22 years. His prowess is such that he could win a medal in any of five Alpine skiing events at the Olympic Games in Torino, Italy, which begin Feb. 10. Most racers compete in two, at most.

Miller is also skiing's mad scientist. There couldn't possibly be anyone who has thought more about what it takes to win a ski race. He has contemplated every aspect of the sport, whether it's boot design, the way your nerves should fire during a turn or even how the World Cup tour should operate. "I simply think things through, and I look at problems," he told TIME. "One thing I pride myself on is the ability to connect unconnected thoughts and come up with new, unique thoughts."

For U.S. ski-team officials who have been the receivers of those thoughts, the 60 Minutes fiasco may have been a long-awaited opportunity to whack the puppy with the paper. "Talented people are a challenge, and what makes some people great is that they require a lot," says Bill Marolt, president of the USSA. (Translation: This guy drives me batty.) "Hopefully this has created something positive, not just with Bode but with the whole team." For years Miller has challenged USSA brass about coaching, training and conditioning methods, equipment and what he considers insufficient support for his ideas. "They are not totally compliant yet," he deadpans. Yet he is serious in his purpose. The coaches, he says, "are forcing athletes to train poorly for the sport. And I find that irritating." Head U.S. men's coach Phil McNichol says Miller has been given plenty of attention, "but he pushes all the boundaries. That's part of his personality. He's about pushing buttons and pushing boundaries."

It's more irritating this year because U.S. coaches think they can top the long-dominant Austrians in Torino. The USSA motto -- Best in the World -- may sound immodest, but the team heading to Italy may well be the most talented group of skiers the U.S. has ever assembled. Miller's teammate Daron Rahlves, in fact, was sensational in winning the Lauberhorn downhill at Wengen. John McBride, the men's speed coach and a Miller confidant, acknowledges that the dustup "had been a team issue." But it's not, he adds, "like Bode's turned into a bad guy. "

He isn't. On the World Cup circuit Miller is rock-star popular and travels like one. Rather than stay in hotels, he does the Alpine tour in a recreational vehicle driven by his boyhood friend Jake Sereno. His uncle, Mike Kenney, a former ski racer, acts as his personal adviser. From Camp Bode, he patrols the Internet (where he met his girlfriend Karen Sherri), writes an online journal for the Denver Post, conducts a radio show for Sirius and hangs out, often with the press and his fans camped outside. "For me, he's all the best things about America: a bit of a showman, sure, but also friendly and likeable, without that grim way that some of the European athletes have," says Bjoern Frick, a fan from Bern. As for the partying, "that's nonsense. If he drinks, he's hardly the first ski racer to do it." Says Miller's fellow racer Marco Buechel, of Liechtenstein: "The World Cup wouldn't be what it is without Bode. We couldn't do without him."

Ski racers--young, fit and famous--are not exactly strangers in the nightclubs at resorts across Europe and the Rockies. There's a reason the ski circuit is called the "white circus." Italian ski legend Alberto Tomba (La Bomba) kept the tabloids busy with his evening exploits. "If any of the sponsors didn't know what they were in for, that this is a part of the package, shame on them," says a Nike rep. According to Miller's agent, Miller just inked the biggest deal ever for a skier, with equipment maker Atomic. He also endorses Barilla pasta, among other products, the income from which provided enough money for him to buy a 600-acre farm in New Hampshire. To the Swoosh folks, who love edgy marketing and freethinking athletes, a jock with a party rep doesn't amount to a problem. In December, Nike launched a website for Miller carrying the tagline "Join Bode" that features the skier offering his philosophy on everything from mental training to retirement.

It's not that Miller, 28, was groomed for leading a movement. As a kid, he spent lots of time by himself, wandering the woods near his home. He didn't watch television because there wasn't one, which is generally coincident with not having electricity. That lifestyle was a choice made by his parents. His father Woody, a med-school dropout with no thirst for the professional life, found happiness working in the outdoors at a variety of hardscrabble jobs. His mother Jo worked at her father's sports camp. Miller has two sisters and one brother.

The Millers home schooled their children some years and sent them to the local school others. They lived so far off the beaten path that Bode had to trek through the dark woods to the bus stop. The many hours alone, he says, taught him to think. His parents were laid back, willing to let their children follow their own instincts. That led young Bode to the slopes of Cannon Mountain, an inclination that was no doubt heightened by his parents' split--although each of them lives in separate quarters at the family compound.

Miller's prowess as a skier and his reputation as a hard nut were already known in the area when he was offered a spot in Carrabassett Valley Academy, a prep school in Maine for ski racers. But coaches there couldn't tame him. They kept trying to alter his so-called back-seat style, and he resisted fiercely. If you want to ski on your ass, they finally told him, become a snowboarder. In his book, Bode: Go Fast, Be Good, Have Fun, he claims that another local coach even sabotaged his chance for the junior Olympic team. Then, when he was 19, a still unknown Miller skied his way onto the national team.

Experiences like those made him an iconoclast. He learned to appreciate the process of racing, not necessarily the result. And he learned to coach himself, because no one else could. You can hear the resentment in his voice today: "We should tell our kids to just have fun, participate and not get bent on winning or losing. But every coach, when they say that, they say it tongue in cheek, 'Don't worry about winning': If you win I'll get you ice cream, but if you lose I'm going to pout in the car."

At one point in his career, Miller's slalom-racing results could be summed up in three letters, DNF, as in did not finish. He seemed determined to either win or crash. But not from recklessness. He was in the process of changing his tactics. Simply trying to go faster wasn't working: correcting errors was harder, equipment didn't work as well. Instead, he figured that the quickest route down the mountain was the shortest route between gates. And that required deep analysis. "I needed to learn how to change directions and generate force that was different from other guys," he says. "I had to think about ankle torsion, where the screws are on the ski, how that affects the forces going into the ski and how the ski bends, your leverage points." He did not have to win. "It was a challenge. I was having the greatest time, making the mistakes, crashing. I didn't love racing to beat other guys. I loved it because it allowed me to do that exploring."

Similarly, Miller has his own ideas about training that have clashed with his coaches'. The USSA, like most sports federations, uses standard testing to evaluate athletes. That, says Miller, causes athletes to train for the test, not the sport. He believes that ski racing requires a different approach to fitness. "My team has been very unreceptive about the fact that I consistently show them that I train slightly differently than they do, that I consistently show them that I am in better shape for ski racing than anyone else on the team," he points out. And why wouldn't he know better than they what will work for him? "I didn't feel anyone is more equipped to analyze that than I was," he says. "I've been myself my whole life."

Last year, after tinkering with his boots, he discovered that inserting a composite--as opposed to aluminum or plastic--lift under the sole gave him a better feel on the snow and better performance. Then he did something really crazy: he shared the information with everyone, including competitors. His equipment team flipped, but in the Miller school of philosophy this makes complete sense. Otherwise, he says, "I'm maintaining an unfair advantage over my competitors knowingly, for the purpose of beating them alone. Not for the purpose of enjoying it more or skiing better. To me that's ethically unsound."

His approach clearly works. He has won two Olympic medals, four world championship golds and 19 World Cup events. In a sport in which athletes tend to specialize in either the speed events (downhill, super-G) or technical events (slalom, giant slalom), Miller does it all. In the first race after his apology, Miller smoked the slalom part of the day's super combined event (downhill and slalom), putting him more than a second ahead of the field. It's an astonishing feat, given that most racers are separated by hundredths of seconds. He was, however, disqualified on a technicality, despite a U.S. protest.

Another losing day? Not necessarily. He had accomplished something, proving again that his willpower, his think-first, ski-better approach, had prevailed. That must have made him happy. And he probably had a beer afterward. That probably made him happy too. [This article consists of a complex diagram. Please see hardcopy of magazine or PDF.]

BIG MAN ON THE SKI SLOPES

Bode Miller, the skier with the unorthodox style, is one of the few racers with the stamina and versatility to compete in all five Alpine events in Torino. In addition to the four shown here, Miller will ski the combined event, which is a shorter downhill run followed by two slalom runs DOWNHILL Vertical drop: 2,625 ft. (800 m) It's the longest course of the Alpine events and one of the most dangerous competitions at the Winter Games, with speeds of more than 80 m.p.h. (130 km/h). Skiers take one run down a single course marked by a few control gates, and the fastest time wins. Racers may take practice runs o All control gates are open (perpendicular to the run) to mark the course SUPER-G 2,130 ft. (650 m) Shorter than the downhill but longer than the giant slalom, the super giant slalom combines speed with technical turns. Racers carve fast turns over a single course with at least 35 directional changes, at speeds of more than 60 m.p.h. (100 km/h). A morning inspection is allowed, but no practice run o Some gates are closed (parallel to run) to force turns that control speed GIANT SLALOM 1,475 ft. (450 m) It's a looser, faster version of the slalom, with wider turns. The fastest total time from two runs on different courses wins. Parabolic (hourglass-shaped) skis used for the past 15 years have allowed better control, so more traditional speed racers are entering this event. Only an inspection is permitted o About 50 sets of open and closed gates SLALOM 720 ft. (220 m) It's the shortest course, with the quickest turns. Racers use short skis and body armor to protect against the impact of gates. Each skier makes two consecutive runs down the same slope on different courses. The lowest combined score wins. Only an inspection is permitted o 55 to 75 gates, including flushes (three or four closed gates in a row) and hairpins (two closed gates)

With reporting by James Graff, Helen Scott-Smith/ Wengen