Pinkbike: 2013 Red Bull Rampage: Profile - Berrecloth

Photo: Margus Riga
Darren Berrecloth has had a rough year. He rode the finals at the X-Games with a torn muscle in his arm that kept him off his bike until Crankworx, where he was injured again. Off his bike and out of the gym, his hips and joints began slipping and getting ‘out of whack’. He competed in his own event, The Berrecloth Invitational, back in August and post event he actively ignored his back pain until he simply couldn’t ride anymore. On his way to Rampage with Doerfling and Aggasiz, he stopped in Californaia for an MRI to find out that a blown disc, the same injury he had seven years ago, would keep him out of Rampage this year. Prognosis is a 100% recovery and Darren is focused on giving himself everyone opportunity to speed it up, including a healthy diet and quality time in a hyperbaric chamber. But regardless he is a spectator this weekend. 

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Pinkbike: 2013 Red Bull Rampage: Profile - Gulevich




Gully loves the internet and it took some heavy negotiating to have him give up his phone long enough to chat with me, but after some pensive glares he submitted and settled into his regular character; a quirky individual who ironically uses YOLO more than a drunk high school girl. The ensuing banter covered everything from his preference of giraffes over goats to his childhood spelling bee trauma that has lead to his refusal to spell the word pterodactyl.

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The Bakery: Off the Bike at Outerbike

When I arrived to the Outerbike site to help set up at sunrise on Friday morning, there were already eager riders waiting in line, a full two hours before the gates would open. This event is to middle-age men what Miley Bieber is to pre-teens or Neal Diamond impersonators to lonely women in Vegas. They are groupies, fans, enthusiasts and bike nerds. Every fall, the fine folks at Western Spirit build a bike industry version of Burning Man in the desert just outside of Moab, and mountain bikers from all over make the pilgrimage to ride the newest, best and weirdest bikes on the market.

The Bakery: Chasing Waterfalls with Team Gong-Show

Everyone has a friend like Jessica; whenever you are together chaos and adventure ensue. One minute you are meeting up for a drink and the next thing you know you are passed out on an inflatable dolphin in Mexico. There is a reason why Jessica and I do not hang out all that often: self-preservation. We ran into each other at a barbeque last week and today we crossed the finish line at the Tour de Victoria in the little-known-because-it-does-not-exist category of “Fixed Fifty.” Our victory came with Chuck Taylors so full of water that fish could have lived in them and two fixed gear bikes that didn’t quite fit in. Saying that we were unprepared for this epic event would be an understatement.

Pinkbike: Project Freeride



If you ride bikes then you have had a bike stolen or know someone who has. This is a fact. Bike theft is rampant. This summer we have seen an elevated profile of bike theft in the local media both with police work and vigilantism. August alone saw Dunbar Cycles team up with police on an undercover operation that recovered their stolen property, police recovered seven bikes through their bate bike program, and a local Vancouver woman steal her bike back from a thief when she found it for sale on Craig’s List. And these are only the stories that have been publicized.

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The Bakery: Season of Change

When the last downhill race of the season happened this past weekend, as a community, we were saddened. We felt the immediate void of anticipation for the next event. Practice and training suddenly took on much longer-term goals and the memories of the good times shared would have to suffice for the long winter months. Especially lost and forlorn were the racers’ parents, while they too look forward to the next season, they also feel the time slipping away. After another season spent driving their kids from race to race, investing time, money and moral support, it was over. And it might never be the same again.

Pinkbike: The Final BC Cup - Fernie



The BC Cup season ended on Sunday with the best race course of the summer at Fernie Alpine Resort; loose steep sections, wide open road gaps, tight trees and flat grassy corners. We spent Saturday evening at the 16" World Champ Dual Slalom which, post a major mechanical, became a big bike race, hanging out while the sun set and cheering for everyone who went by. Race day saw carnage on the steep sections with racers surfing their way down, many not only without their bikes, but on their faces. Well placed volunteers kept the section lively and spectators in the game with proper cowbell etiquette and well timed encouragement. After surviving that section the course alternated between wide open and tight in the trees, but the steeps were done until a fade-away wooded drop at the finish line. 

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The Bakery: Evictions and Heli Drops…Turning 40 as a Mountain Biker

Kelli was 23 when she started mountain biking, 26 when she started racing and 40 when we hit the road to celebrate her milestone birthday with a few days of riding that included a heli-drop and an unplanned campsite eviction. A lot can change in seventeen years and as someone who works in the bike industry (Kelli and her husband run a mountain bike tour and instruction company) her identity is strongly tied to riding. Priorities change throughout our lives and, at points, bikes often end up collecting dust in the garage, waiting for years when work isn’t so busy or the kids are ‘old enough.’ But when it is as entwined in our lives as it is in Kelli’s, giving it up is not an option. Changing our perspectives is.

The Bakery: My Date with Rob Warner

Photo: Paris Gore

Rob Warner is a legend whose World Cup commentary is as worthy of your attention as the racing itself, Seriously, when was the last time you heard an announcer state, “He’s all over the place like a monkey dry-humping a football!”? When I found out that Warner was in Whistler for Crankworx, I had to get an interview with him.

Naturally, I followed the standard journalistic protocol for such matters, which is to say I propositioned him in the line-up for a bar. Like a creepy groupie violating a restraining order, I blurted out, “You’re Rob Warner! Will you go on a date with me?”

Surprisingly, that approach didn’t work as well as I’d hoped. Two nights later, with some solid work from two wingmen (apparently I can’t even pick-up for a fake date on my own), I got Rob to agree to an interview over dinner with me.

Pinkbike: Ten Commandments of Heckle Rock... Crankworx 2013


Crankworx used to end with a bang, and then a fizzle. After the big event on Saturday, the Canadian Open always felt like a bit of an after thought; something to watch from the GLC patio while sipping Caesars and nursing a vicious hangover. That was until a shirtless and half-cut Moses descended on the racecourse and a new sport was born; Heckling. Yesterday morning a mob of nearly-nude-never-nudes showed up to Heckle Rock early for the best vantage points like they were getting in line for T Swift concert tickets. Beer bongs, booze and boobs were unloaded as the crew settled in and prepared to enlighten the world of downhill racing. With them they brought a new set of rules, new wisdom and the ten commandments of Heckle Rock. 

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Pinkbike: Nine Days Later...Crankworx 2013



A post apocalyptic scene unfolded on the barren land of the slopestyle course yesterday. The rain was relentless for most of the morning leaving all of Whistler village, riders and fans in limbo, wondering if the show would go on. When the call was finally made spectators began a slow purposeful march up the hill. The weather had let up to a drizzle, the clouds were ominous and a chopper hovered overhead looking for signs of life amongst the zombies. They found it.

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Pinkbike: The Eighth Day...Crankworx 2013



And on the eighth day Noah hosted the Whip Off Worlds. Undeterred by the rain, fans could be spotted walking towards the village with deteriorating “whips for tits” cardboard signs in tow. Hungover and slow moving, they were soggy hitchhiking zombies wanting to see your rack. No amount of rain or cold was going to keep their shirts on or stoke down as they hiked the mountain and converged on Crabapple Hits. 

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Pinkbike: And on the Seventh Day...Crankworx 2013


Photo: Margus Riga
Crankworx is a departure from our usual tranquil and nature filled trail rides. It highlights the excess of our sport, like a spandex clad Axel Rose grinding up on Jack Johnson. The Whistler Village feels like a sardine can packed with shiny new bikes and flashy kits; there are people, tents, music, signs, flags, banners, free shit and tight shirts. It is hard not cringe as you watch groups of tourist hanging out at the bottom of the hill angling for selfies that catch the action as riders skid back into the lift line behind them. It is all fun and games until someone loses an iPad. 

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The Bakery: Hangover

It took ten hours to get home on Monday. I spent the time cooped up in the backseat of a friend's overloaded car fighting off the assault of precariously perched helmets and other gear. I was suffering from a severe hangover, the kind where it feels like your punished soul is trying to escape through your eyeballs. Solid food was beyond my ability. I passed the time by mentally inventorying the items within reach that I could throw up in and wondering at what angle my head would fit through the childproofed back window without getting stuck. I watched the world go by outside between naps and moments of pure nausea. The long weekend traffic was stop-and-go at points, usually with the congestion caused by line-ups of RV's waiting to go to places like The Enchanted Forest, which boast 350 jolly folk art figurines. It made me feel lucky to ride bikes, lucky that my long weekend Holy Grail involved mountains and really cool people, not gimmicky Styrofoam and overpriced hot dogs.

The Bakery: Meat Pies and Meatheads… A DH Race Weekend

A DH race weekend is a magical world, the kind of place you find if you stumble through the back of a wardrobe or fall down a rabbit hole. Only the Cheshire cat would be wearing a pajama suit and Alice would be manically adjusting her tire pressure. Men run around in women’s clothing, scale buildings naked and drop their pants on course like baboons in heat. The scene is a bit like a redneck uncle; there is a lot of drinking, swearing, and punch lines that make you cringe. Regular life is game-off and conversation alternates from hot girls, to meat pies, to race lines – women, food and going fast.

The Bakery: Community

Bamfield is not a city. It is more of a small town or village. You can not pass through it to go anywhere and you are lucky to arrive there, over the logging road, with your car intact. This is where I grew up. It is where I learned the value of being a part of a community. Our commonality was our location and, as a result, we also shared the desire to survive the winters of isolation, power outages and harsh west coast storms. Some of us are drawn to Bamfield, some driven to it. Some long for a simpler existence, some are social outcasts, others are retired, or entrepreneurs, and still others have been there for many generations; the reasons that their families originally called it home, long since forgotten.

We form a motley and mismatched extended family. All ages, ethnicities, denominations, opinions (of which there are many), and abilities exist within our community and because of that we function and we have identity. I grew up learning from people I may never otherwise have had the opportunity to meet and I enjoyed a sense of safety that came from many caring eyes, which was great unless you were trying to get into the community hall dance underage.

The Bakery: Hangry

Hypoglycemia goes by a few different names; ‘hitting the wall’ conjures up images of men running marathons in headbands and short shorts circa 1982 and ‘bonking’ makes me think of people in spandex slumped over their handlebars trying to remember where they went wrong with their carb intake from the night before. Neither of these two descriptions are what I experience. I get ‘hangry’.

Hangry is described on the Internet as ‘a state of anger caused by lack of food; hunger causing a negative change in emotional state.’ Well ‘a negative change in emotional state’ may be an understatement. I have shredded my share of purple pants while attempting to throw my bike in a hulk-like rage. At best, when my blood sugar drops, I sever all communication and focus the energy I have left, drawn from the depths of my glycogen stores, to find food. I communicate only in grunts, head nods and spontaneous tears until I am fed. I, all but, foam at the mouth.

The Bakery: Inside Our Travelling Circus

Whenever a racer shakes my hand and compliments our professional event, I have to stop myself from gesturing over my shoulder and asking, "but didn't you see the bearded woman over there?" Yes, we have the ultimate singletrack, which goes without saying, but it's the band of misfits that create our traveling circus who make each year a unique experience. We don't offer our crew any cue cards or give them 'smile' signs while they are making your foot long sandwiches. The BC Bike Race brand is personality and people; it’s about who owns a chicken suit, plays the drums or cooks the best bacon. Even our trails represent the personalities of the people who design them.

The Bakery: Can You Keep a Secret?

Secret trails are something of a currency in the bike world and about the only thing that makes our sport remotely punk rock. We trade them for cool points or hold on to them, dropping subtle hints in conversations to elevate our perceived social status. “If you don’t know about it, you shouldn’t ride it.” Mountain biking is not sexy, so secret trails cascading down our mountains like the phantom octopi tentacles is about all we’ve got. People go hunting for them like treasure. And develop feelings of ownership, much like Gollum and his precious. Joeys shouldn’t ride them, but they always do. So who tells them where they are and why shouldn’t they? Who actually owns a secret trail? With hands raised, there is the trail builder who doesn’t own the land, the landowner who didn’t build the trail, the inner circle of the first riders to know about it (who didn’t build the trail nor do they own the land) and the community as a whole.