The Gluck Auf salt mine in eastern Germany is, at first glance, an unremarkable place in an unremarkable setting. Travelling there in February, the mood sinks along with the disappearing sun. Grey surroundings, dreary weather, a scattering of broken down dwellings and deserted village streets ensure a melancholic air by the time the car grinds to a halt. The location is Sondershausen, in the province of Thuringia.
It's 11 and a half years since the fall of the Berlin Wall, but in this particular area the effects of the unification seem diluted. Time has moved slowly here. As for the Gluck Auf (Good Luck) mine itself, production ceased in 1991 when increased foreign competition meant that potash extraction became uneconomical. Some 2.3 million tonnes of crude salt were brought to the surface in that final year, before 2,000 workers lost their jobs and the area slipped into decline.
The gates didn't close, though. A century's worth of excavating had bored out 200 kilometres of tunnels but weakened the surface above, causing subsidence and a threat to Sondershausen itself. So labour continued, filling the holes below ground level and terracing the spoil heaps above.
Today, only 22 kilometres of tunnels remain but new lifeblood is being injected into the network of stone arteries. The huge drilling machines which were brought, bit by bit, down the old lift shaft, recently carved out an events hall 600 metres below the surface. Parties, meetings, and even a wedding, have taken place there, while a concert hall and bowling alley will be completed this year.
Some 16 hours after that sobering journey, a pleasant winter's day has dawned. With sunlight, the surroundings take on a new life; drab grey has given way to luminescence and the prospect of descending over 600 metres into the heart of the mine sets my heart beating fast. Last weekend, Gluck Auf hosted one of its most ambitious projects yet - the grandiose-sounding Red Bull Race Down to the Middle of the Earth, which brought athletes and journalists from around the world to the small German town.
Brought money, too. Hotels are booked out, caterers employed, and much spent on preparing the mine for the world's first subterranean bicycle race. Despite the costs, the sponsors, Red Bull, have embraced the idea of a local cyclist, Uwe Buckholz. Involving a radical sport of downhillracing, it could have been tailormade for backing by the energy-drinks company, which has long associated itself with events such as snowboarding, sky surfing and free skiing.
The idea for the event is simple. Take the world's best downhill riders, kamikaze crazies who hurtle down obstacle-strewn mountain-sides for a living, and put them in an environment which will test their skills to the limit. Not overground, but deep within the heart of one of the world's oldest salt mines, using ramps, jumps and dimly lit conditions to render the slippery slopes even more challenging.
And even more dangerous. Starting from a depth of over 600 metres, the riders will plummet at breakneck speed for 1.8 kilometres through disused mine tunnels, negotiating steep slopes and tight rightangle turns at speeds of up to 50 miles per hour; 18 men and eight women - racing in pairs in a knockout competition, or "dual" event - all adrenalin junkies who live for two or three minutes of flat-out speed and risk-taking.
Some would call it reckless abandon. "If I crash, I crash. If not, I should win," the great US downhill racer, Missy Giove, once said. She's not here, though. Ironically, a recent training wipe-out put paid to her challenge, sending her sliding over the edge of a 25-foot drop and breaking her left tibia and spraining ligaments in both knees. She estimates she has broken "upwards of 38 bones" during her career, including both kneecaps, both heels, her collarbone and her pelvis.
But this is all part of the risk associated with this fast-growing wing of cycling. The riders may use high-tech bikes with front and rear suspension, but a full-frontal helmet and body padding can only do so much if you slam into the ground or a tree or, in this case, a wall, at 50 miles an hour.
So, Missy may be missing but the world number one, Anne-Caroline Chausson of France, is here, moving around with a quiet confidence and a pair of cycling shades permanently welded to her face. She's won a clutch of world championships and is the clear favourite for the women's race.
In the men's event, Dutchman Bas de Bever, Spaniard David Vasquez and Cedric Gracia of France are the favourites. All are nervous in the hours before the race. It's the first event of the new season, the riders only got to ride on the course the day before and the dark conditions mean that for some sections the riders must rely on handlebar-mounted lights to see. Today's practice runs are vital and the highly-strung cyclists are keen to get down into the mine.
But first the journalists. At 9.30 a.m. each is issued safety instructions, an overcoat and a helmet, and bundled into the ancient lift, which is the sole entrance to the depths of Gluck Auf. The roof is low, causing some to stoop, and the blackness enhances feelings of claustrophobia as the guard cage is closed and the lift begins its four-minute clanking descent into the depths. When it stops, we emerge, eyes blinking into the brightness of a large tunnel roughly hewn out of solid rock one century ago.
First surprise is the sight of several pick-up trucks, which were each dismantled, brought down the lift and then painstakingly re-assembled years before. We pile into the back of one and begin a long, bumpy and at times overly fast drive through labyrinthine tunnels which rise and fall and are illuminated solely by the headlights of the speeding truck. It is a special experience, but one which becomes even more impressive when the race course is finally reached. There, a long, sandy track falls away into the heart of the mine, red spotlights on craggy walls generating the look of a hellish inferno and angry claw marks score the rock overhead, etched (one hopes) by the drilling machinery. The air is thick and humid and the temperature a stifling 25 degrees.
A taste of salt hangs in the air, and when torches are trained on the walls, we see twinkling crystals in red rock which crumbles at the touch. Hardly encouraging, considering the hundreds of thousands of tons overhead, but fascinating nonetheless.
Two hours later the riders arrive, decked out in colourful Lycra adorned with sponsors' names. Some walk the course, others ride it, checking the jumps and watching out for rocks and slippery sections which could spell disaster. Then they climb back up the slope and one by one mount their bikes to begin the qualifying section. A timer ticks down, and at five-minute intervals they each explode from the starting gates to hurtle down the slopes. Launching 10 feet into the air from the first ramp, sprinting fearlessly headlong into the first sweeping right turn - the courage/conviction/craziness is frightening to behold.
The words of Missy Giove spring to mind. "I think when you are on the edge of life like a downhill racer is, you have to be spiritual. For me, it'd be odd not to think about death and spirituality."
Watching several riders fight to keep control and glancing off straw bales on the exit of turn one, the attitude of another US downhill racer, Jake "Earthquake" Watson, seems altogether more reasonable. "Never use your face as a brake pad," he once advised.
Hours later, the Race Down to the Middle Of The Earth has its champions. We are in the almost-completed concert hall, a huge white chamber hewn out of the rock which, with its white walls and subtle lighting, looks to all intents as if it is constructed out of ice. Dance music pumps from speakers, emphasising both the high energy of the event and the surreal nature of this wild party in the depths of a 110-year-old German salt mine.
For Cedric Gracia and Anne-Caroline Chausson, there is even greater reason to celebrate. They've just been crowned the winners of the first subterranean downhill race, overcoming Bas De Bever and Marla Strepp in the men's and women's finals. Out-breaking, out-sprinting and out-thinking their rivals, they progressed through the rounds with confidence and determination and stamped their mark on the event. Each takes home a large winner's cheque but, like the other competitors, the greatest prize was simply being an integral part of one of the world's wackiest sporting ideas.
And for the spectators, most will never look at a bike race, or a salt cellar, in quite the same way again.