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Whistler madness

Lars flew north to help a teamate in the 24 Hours of Adrenalin Solo World Championships, and he got the Extended Play on Whistler's DH runs while he was there.

By Lars Thomsen

After my team mate Kevin Goodman convinced me to join him in Whistler by booking my flight and telling me he would pick me up in Vancouver, drive me to Whistler to stay with him in his Westin Resort & Spa room, then drive me back to the airport a week later, IT WAS ON. Of course, my jealous wife couldn't let me have all the fun, so she booked some seats as well. Thursday, September 2nd we flew to Portland, switched to a propeller hopper, and cruised through Canadian customs without any hang-ups, regardless of the marriage license we thought was our son Spencer's birth certificate. Welcome to Canada, eh?

Kevin picked us up as promised, like 70 seconds after I called him from the loading area, and we were off over the Lions Gate and up the Sea to Sky Corridor. Epic sea and mountains on the left, Squamish country tempting from the right. (I couldn't help but scan the trees for jibs and drops, like I'd see one from the Highway...) After a warm welcome at the Westin we checked our quiver with the bike storage folks and it was time for the Old Spaghetti Factory. But we wouldn't even get out of the parkway without being spotted by Trail Head customers Mark and Bruce Anderson! "Hey, Lars? ... Trail Head???" I felt like a rock star or something. They were unloading gear for the 24 hours of Adrenalin, Solo World Championships. Kevin had some Bay Area competition, eh? They found the cheaper feeding grounds as well and a pre-ride of the course was set for 9am Friday.

We were fearing rain the whole trip, but it wasn't to be. Friday morning was crispy, but nice. Kevin pulled his spanky new S-Works Stumpjumper out of the bike storage and I chose my Demo-9. While Kevin rode the 24 hour solo course, it was time for me to see what Whistler had to offer from the Gondola! I took my bro Lee McCormack's advice and warmed up on A-Line. If you haven't heard, this run is sickeningly fast, wide, and loaded with berms and doubles ranging from five to twenty feet. There's one significant drop off a big 'ol boulder, and I just rolled into it with Demo 9 confidence. Whoa, maybe not the smartest thing to do, but the Triple Eight soaked up my over baked transition and it was super g's left through the merge berm and fast floating over a table to a sickening G-Forced right berm. That is sort of the theme for Whistler I found. Huge drops with awesome transitions are followed by something rad to properly take advantage of your speed. Be it a berm or a big rise or my favorite, nice step ups that give you an astronauts perspective. The bottom of A-Line has some options, of which I really liked the wooded tight single-track. Sort of a nice finish to super fast wide track. Still fast, but TIGHT and steep, with some ladders to cruise, then finish off the run with a nice option of cliff drops for the beer drinkers on the patio. I rolled up to the big drop, marked by a double diamond, and scoped it out. Not too bad, just sort of scary since you really can't see what your dropping into and the terrain is loose approaching the jagged rock outcrop. Even if you come up short, the fine staff had built a wooden transition to keep many a rider from blowing it right at the bottom. The whole time there, I never touched that wood, sweet transition dirt was to be had beyond. Sickening grin on my face, I loaded back up into the Gondola.

On the way back up to mid-mountain I'm looking down on some sick single-track with rock out-crops and woods, so I pedaled into what I know now as Schleyer. This is a single diamond trail with some double black options. Very fun top section with short mellow wooden bridges and spine like rock sections, then I was sucked into National Downhill. This trail is burly. Loose rock is your traction on narrow, steep ass half track with plenty of exposure. Throw in a few wheelie drops for extra speed and I was clear in the namesake. That pumped me up for the bike park, which is a huge mountain cross course full of huge tables, doubles, boxes, walls, 1/4 pipes, berms, and one famous elevated teeter totter.

I'd been wanting to hit that stunt all summer long, but Staff shut it down the whole time I was there. I dunno, could be like the huge ass road gap, open for photo shoot'n only ... whatever, there was plenty of stuff to hit. I found the cool stunt Lee wrote about where you have to launch this gap to land on the wooden bridge. The straight line was still closed forcing you to basically power slide right and set up for a drop to another wooden bridge and then drop to a nice dirt transition. Gee what to do with all this speed ... clear a couple of tables and hit the box, man! Everyone has seen this box by now, and let me tell you, it's bigger in person. Still grinning, I get over the last few tables and launch my ass to the lift.

Time to go up to the top, the Garbanzo Chair. I couldn't help but feel like I rented Whistler for the day. Nobody else on the chair but me. This is like K2 at Squaw Valley, black or double black only ... choices! I chose Original Sin and was rewarded with the twisty, muddy, root ridden single track Canada is known for. I was thankful for the 2.8 Michelin/2.5 Minion UST set up, the dudes I caught up to were squirt'n all over the track with bald used up tires. Not much room for error up here, especially when following the Whistler Option Signs. These are cool. You get this prompt as your hauling ass downhill with an arrow pointing one way for "harder" and another way for "easier". In small print, which can only be read if your stopped, they give you the Mountain Patrol Cell #. I'm on a Demo 9 with a triple eight. No worries, eh? Dude, there were a few of those "harder" routes that had me worried. I'm cautiously creeping into this wet slick rock face that gets muddy and full of roots before a mandatory drop to a mud pit, but you have to thread the needle between some sharp ass rocks and I'm worried ... No place to bail, just get back and ask the bike for another favor. She soaked up the drop, but the mud soaked up my front wheel and I soaked up some mud. It's cool, softish landing, armor, full face, I basically roll up to my feet and look back at the madness I just came down. The dudes I passed earlier are trying to find a way to walk down, and there isn't one. Then I notice the Emergency Back Board, just leaning against the outcrop I just came down. I look around, but there is nobody to be seen. This board is just hanging out, waiting for use. I tell it to wait for someone else and get back to ride'n.

Soon I'm forced to ride the "easier" route around some wet slimy rock that's closed. The trail merges back into the drop and I recognize this one. They call it the Manager. Difficult in dry weather, plain stupid when wet, a double chin on this boulder sends the faster rider nose wheelie'n to a wooden single track through trees. I quietly tell myself I'm relieved it's closed and roll the cool wood. I feel like I've been riding for days, and I'm not even half way down! I cruise into Duffman and get to hit this fast as ferck step up. I'm not joking when I say your hitting it at like thirty, and you have to. Back in space for a bit, then back into the woods. After some more tricks like "No Duff" and such, you find yourself back on A-Line... Damn! I mean sweet. Next up? Dirt Merchant.

On the Gondola I'm sharing for the first time. Couple of punk kids talking hella smack. They ask if I'd been on Merchant before. Nope. Are you fast? Sure. OK, follow us. We roll across the mid mountain, classic grom banter the whole way, and I drop in behind these rippers. Dirt Merchant is like A-Line only bigger and badder. Off the jeep road, a wooden ramp brings you up to speed so you can clear the first table, and it's huge. The hardest thing to do is land backside to the left so you can hit the cool log drop/step down that follows over there. I only managed to connect it once my whole trip. If you miss it though, your rewarded with a nice step down anyway followed by another step down then one huge ass table. By then you need a merchant agreement, and Whistler hooks you up with a jumbo tron berm hooking right to a couple smaller tables, into some fast turns, a rock face drop, another berm to berm to berm, probably another table or two, this cool rock outcrop huck, oh, oh, so much speeeeeeed ... step up. Damn I love this place. By now the kids seem annoyed that I'm on their wheel and sort of pull off to the side when we merge in to what? A-Line of course. Boom'n down the Line, huck'n way off that cliff at the bottom and I'm smirking. Not long and those groms roll up and it's like were buds all of a sudden. That's cool, I'm sure they see tons of kooks clogging their turf all summer long. They ask if I want to do another run, OK. Twist my arm. One of 'em had some mechanical or something, so we only did one more run together, but really, after another A-Line, I was spent. At least my hands were OK. I remember Lee advising to wear fresh gloves, so I switched up at lunch. Nice call, Lee. (Some of Lee's tips) - Photo: Cedric Gracia himself gets himself a dirt merchant account.

Oh yea. I'm up here with my family and friend Kevin. I find them at the room and we hook up dinner again at the Spaghetti Factory, only tonight is the Friday night before 24 Hours of Adrenalin Solo World Championships and it's packed. We sit near Tinker and his Mom. Looked like she was telling him how it was going to be. That guy is harder than nails and Kevin feels the vibe of being in such proximity to one of the most heralded mountain bikers of all time, let alone 24 hour solo racing. Spencer is grabbing spoons, thank goodness for spoons, and we have a nice dinner. Kevin eyes our beer, but stays clean, eyes on the prize. Try as we may to get to sleep early, it's not early enough.

Race day begins and I haul the truck up to the "24 Hour Solo City" and set up. Rows and rows of 10X10s with rad color signs marking each racers name, number and country of origin. Rad. I'm hustling back and forth from the truck, and I've got tons of shit. California style, I've got my shop 10x10, repair stand, tool boxes, gear bags, tables, chairs, cable lock, stove, lantern, cooler, water jugs, water bottles, bags of food, a bag of lights, and the coveted global warmer. Ohhh yeaaa, five gallons of propane and a device to burn it all at a quiet whisper. I will make friends tonight. Ok, lock up the S-Works and the Turner, book back to the room, pick up Kevin, grab a couple bites to satisfy my rumbling tummy, and get back to the "city". At the elevator we join this fast lookin cat wearing a Trek vest. I tell him there is a killer epic ride that starts at noon and ask if he wants to join us. Yea, that sounds good. He's totally calm. Kevin asked if he raced for Trek ... "yup, how'd you know" he says with a grin. Really, says Kevin, "what's your name?" "Chris" he says. "Chris Eatough?" says Kevin. Yea. Kevin tells him how much he rips and that he's been holding Chris is the highest regards in some words. I have to admit, it took me a while to get it. This guy has won the last four world championships. He's a machine. We share the ride down and wish each other well, then I drive Kevin up to the "city". How cool was that! Super stoked we get to camp, I swap some tires to get Kevin's Stumpy equipped with 2.1 and 2.3 Nokian NBX SWA's. These tires rip and the 13 mile course is wet, rocky and littered with roots and drops. World Championship action baby! This aint no Laguna Seca, Fort Ord buff sand soil. We're talk'n bridges without rails, exposure, fall line up, fall line down, tight trees and nasty rock gardens. All good and fun when your fresh, another story when your worked mentally, physically, it's freakin four in the morning and you haven't had a wink of sleep.

"Dude, is my bike ready?" I'm think'n shit, I hope it's ready. We just found his race frame, a Sugar, had a cracked carbon stay just last Wednesday, I pulled this 2005 S-Works Stumpjumper frame out of my ass and had it built with all his parts in like a day. And now he's about to ride the damn thing HARD for 24 hours, what do I say? "Yup, this thing is dialed, now lets go to the start tent!" What a freak show. Nervous bikers everywhere, bikes all over the start chute, did I mention it was a Lemans Start? Each solo racer is called by name and home town to the start line and tensions build as everyone counts down the clock, five, four, three, two, one ... BAM! Chris Eatough and Tinker Juarez are off the front with Leslie Tomlinson and hottie Christina Beggy too. But there are so many racers, Kevin is just strollin along. Got 24 hours man, I'm not gonna kill myself over this Bay to Breakers start, right? I grab my pictures and boogy over to his bike, he's still just cruisin, "Hey, can you grab me a couple of gels?" Sure Kevin, no problem. Book over to the tent, then back to the chute, hand him the gels and tell him to get out!

Finally, this race is begun, I organize the tent and set up his next water bottle of electrolytes and wait. Funny thing. Every racer, save the core woman down the way, has somebody to help in the pits. While the racers are out suffering, the pit crews get to know each other. Super cool. Well, by the middle of the night, I know all the racers names around me, so when they come in I'm yelling "Right on Brian, way to go!" Of course, they have no clue who I am, and look at me like I'm some sort of weird child molester ... oh, well. Everyone else around rolls in and I'm wondering where Kevin is, then he rolls up. "Duuude, I got stung in the ass by a bee, man! It just stung my ass right here!" All right, all right, keep your pants up, I don't see the stinger, so drink some of this, eat some of that. While Kevin rubs his ass over some juice, I clean and lube the chain, check the shifting and linkage and ask if everything runs ok. Yup. Perfect. This turns out to be the ritual every lap, Tri-Flow, rag, bolt check, tire pressure check, ask how it's running and send it. Damn if that bike didn't run like a champ all day all night and the next morning. Little rub on my back, that's right, I'm stoked.

Kevin heads out for the hell lap. Middle of the course, Kevin is bombing past the scared climbers through the trees and rocks and phistphistphistphissssssphisssss, pinch flat. Shit, OK, tire off, spare tube, CO2, re-install, and railing again through more rock gardens and phistphistphistphissssssphisssss, another pinch flat, Shit! OK, tire off, spare tube #2, pump action, pull the pump and pop goes the valve, flat again, crappy valve. Ughh, tire off, double patch the first tube, re-install, pump action, few. Back on the bike, but not without Chris Etoff lapping Kevin for the second time that lap...Like I said, the guy is a machine. I'm wonderin where the hell Kevin is and when he shows up it's not good. He takes a little break, eats a PB&J and I replace the bum tube with a freshie. Right on, OK, take off, eh?

The next lap is fast, and so the night comes. But wait, where is Kevin's mandatory tail light? Shit. One of the neighbors is heading to the Village and asks if we need anything, Yup, a taillight, this camp is sold out. Kevin rolls in and rolls out with one more lap of daylight, no tail light yet. Then our cool neighbor shows up, blinky in hand. Right on! Hook that guy up with a 20. Next lap is that weird light lap, where depth perception is tricky and the miles are adding up. Kevin manages to get by with just a scrape, and eats a few slices of organic pizza my wife Karen found in the Village. Awesome. Karen took Spencer back to the room, and I changed into some warm clothes. The sunset was un-real and the night was super clear. Up in Whistler, the North Star hangs high in the sky, it's little dipper clear in the mountain air with the Big Dipper close by and some of my favorites, the Herdsman and the Northern Crown off of the handle. Around midnight a near full moon crested the dark wall of mountains Kevin had been riding for over 12 hours. The hardest laps were now upon him, most solo racers had called it quits at least until daybreak. Not Kevin though, he charged through the night, HID on both his helmet and handlebar. Out in the night, the animals sounded bigger and closer, bears lurked around each tree, and groggy eyes searched the rutted and grooved track for a good line. Suffering up a fall line climb only the solo racers had to do, Christina Beggy cruised by carrying on some conversation with someone. And every time Eatough would pass, he was chanting some verse, over and over and over again.

I don't know how he did it, I was bonking in the tent, but daybreak came and Kevin was still churning out laps. I think it was the fried bread I made a turkey sandwich with on the Coleman, Kevin didn't remember the scrambled eggs and pancakes. Oatmeal sat in his gut like a rock I think and around 10 am he had to call it quits or risk serious injury. Out on lap nine, it was too difficult to stay on the track, swerving and reflecting off of rocks, it was time to rack 'em up. I thought he pulled the fasted lap out of his ass, but I was wrong. Then I subtlety laid the pressure on him. "Dude, ready now for one last lap?" "Your all set, ready to go?" "You aren't serious right? One more lap." But it was time, he had ridden over a 110 miles of Whistler and his body wasn't up for another. Now it was time to pack up and watch the standings. As it was, he was in tenth place for the 30-40 class. Kevin must have check those stats like 10 times, but they never changed.

Second 24 hour race ever, first World Championship ever, top ten. Time for a beer. I took him to a pub for big pasta and Guinness. I thought he might fall over from lack of nourishment, so I ordered him a second Guinness. That put him into a comfortably numb state and we walked slowly back to the room. He offered me the first shower, which I couldn't believe, but when I got out I understood. He was flat out and snoring. Funny shit, check the photo. Early night for me, too. I wanted to be first on the gondola come Monday!

Labor Day was a little crowded, but the Gondola seemed to be the secret. I went back and cleaned that rocky rootsy drop off of Garbanzo. The track had dried up a bit. We're talk'n Velcro. I was getting caulky, even. Bad. Must not slack off. Awesome day, found No Joke and some other runs under the Gondola.

Tuesday I was the first on the Gondola and by 1:00 I was done. Only this time I had Kevin's helmet cam. Oh yes, riding with a helmet cam is very fun. It's also a little devil on your shoulder. "Go on, hit it Lars, you know you can clean that, you have a Demo 9 for Christ sake (he didn't say that actually)" You get the idea. Last run of the day and I find myself on Clown Shoes. This circus of a "trail" is very interesting. I'm ripping down a Schleyer trail and some other fun wooden stuff when I find myself passing two signs at speed. The first one said Clown Shoes, the next said something like, man made stunts, mandatory ... didn't get the rest, but I get the idea soon enough. A couple of skinnies close to the ground but enough to scare must have been set up to warn any rider not comfortable to stop and go home. Me? I have a devil on my helmet named Vio Sport. I'm focused on the skinny below me, but manage a glimpse up ahead to record in my mind what is coming ... whoa. Lofty skinnies wrapping around trees, way off the ground, and I'm not sure where they lead to. I lose confidence for a nano second and thankfully I was passing a tree. Lean. Stop. Assess. OK, a couple options, both gnarly. But one calls me out and the Devil's backing him up. Speed, I need to carry speed to pull this off. Like Ryan Leeches Manifesto, no set up hops, just flow. I pump my brakes, the rear has been fading all day, must have jacked something up on that wash out Monday on Merchant. Good enough, not like I'll use 'em much. Pedal, pedal, flow around a tree, I can feel the height now, take the right option and wheelie off the skinny to another skinny that is not right below the first, but a gap away. No stopping now, keep the speed and drop another level to land on another skinny and hit the brakes, this one wraps around a tree to the left. Way up there now, and a quick glance shows me where the wood ends, but not really sure where I'll land yet. Pedal, flow around another tree to the right, I'm in the chute now and I give 'er a couple more pedals for good measure ... This one's big, for me at least. I'm not sure how big 'cause I ripped right out of there like if I stopped to check it all out my clean line would be revoked and I'd be a dead sailor waiting for a back board. I figured it was all on film anyway. I was wrong. I must have bumped the start/stop button just before I rode into Clown Shoes when a drop sent me with too much speed to make a turn and I was stopped super abruptly by a tree. DAMN!!!! Oh, well. Sweet dreams for me, and what a way to wrap up my riding in Whistler!

I got to eat lunch in my room with Kevin, Karen and Spencer, and then ride the Gondola to the top with just Karen and Spence. Super fantastic views, so so coffee, great Gondola ride. Damn, that thing just goes forever. Karen got to see here token bear. She'd been wanting to see one the whole trip. I got to chase one down Duffman trail. Kevin saw three on a post race ride Monday. It was her turn.

We had a clean departure from the Westin, Kevin got us to the airport on time, the Canadian security dude stoked us out with our marriage license for a birth certificate, and we flew back to the Hoe safely. What a drag to land in San Jose, 90 something muggy degrees and not a Gondola in sight. Sweet memories though, and photos, and helmet cam action! All I can say is, if you have been to Whistler, you'll go again. If you have not, plan to go soon.