I've covered a range of sports in my career, but Crankworx is a particularly rewarding experience.
As a volunteer for The Gauntlet (the University of Calgary student paper) I wrote mostly about college hockey and football. During my master's degree at the school now called IU Indianapolis, I levelled up to March Madness basketball and Big Ten Championship football. Then arrived a remote internship with Golfweek during the heart of COVID-19 where I learned heaps about a sport I once cared nothing for.
With Pique Newsmagazine, I've reported on everything from bobsled to freestyle skiing… but Crankworx is a different beast.
Let's flash back to July 2023, my first brush with this unfettered celebration of all that mountain biking is. I had been Pique's sports journalist for approximately eight months at that time, and my editor Braden Dupuis gave ample notice regarding what would be the busiest 10 days of my work year.
The problem was, I had never watched a mountain biking race before.
A valued mentor from Indianapolis preaches the importance of preparation, and I heeded his words: looking things up and emailing former Pique sports reporter Dan Falloon for guidance. He warned me to brace myself for Red Bull Joyride, for I'd need to contend with 35,000 fans and larger media organizations in my quest for the all-important champion's quote.
"Once, maybe twice, I eventually got Emil Johansson when he was in one of the sponsor tents signing autographs an hour or so after the event," Dan wrote to me. "They’re long, hot days. Be sure to pace yourself, stay hydrated, take as many Clif Bar samples as you can."
Sink or swim
With that in mind, it was time for my maiden event: the RockShox Canadian Open DH at its new Creekside venue. Having slept very poorly the night before, I drank several Red Bulls (which did not help much because I'm apparently resistant to caffeine).
At first, I meandered up towards the top of the course and dealt with a few staffers who weren't sure how to help a lost reporter like myself. Before long, I decided to plant myself in the finish corral instead—it would be difficult to keep track of results from elsewhere.
Squamolian brothers Jakob and Dane Jewett won their respective divisions and a wide grin crossed my face. An obvious, locally compelling angle had just materialized, so all I needed were some interviews.
That's when I realized, belatedly: there was no post-race press conference to attend. There was no communications specialist on hand to liaise between myself and the athletes.
By no means am I trying to disparage how Crankworx organizers run things. I'm just identifying the marked difference in media policy between this festival and other sports I've covered. Football, hockey, basketball and even bobsledding are regulated—you have to go through official or semi-official channels before speaking to athletes.
Mountain biking seems to practice a more hands-off approach. Writer-reporters operate independently, which sounds neat but isn't ideal when you're elbowing your way through crowds of fans and interrupting a rider's conversation with their buddies to ask for two minutes of their time.
My first few days of Crankworx were sink or swim. At times, I ranted to my friends about the task. Yet my confidence grew with each race, each successful interview and each filed story. Braden and Dan let me know they were loving my stuff, so I was doing something right.
Crankworx enabled me to further develop my journalism skills. I got used to navigating busy situations on my own, discerning the right moment to stick my nose into somebody else's affairs. Growth does not happen without discomfort, after all.
Global and grassroots
Here's what really makes Crankworx special though: its people.
The festival engages the local community to a greater degree than many major sporting events. Kids brush shoulders with their mountain biking heroes whenever they're not racing each other. The Village Stroll becomes a nexus of socioeconomic activity as people of diverse backgrounds mingle. Unexpected but gratifying relationships form.
Hours before the 2023 Canadian Open DH kicked off, my sleep-deprived self casually began talking to a woman at the base of Creekside's gondola. I assumed she was a local, but she was from East Burke, Vermont.
Over the next few minutes I became acquainted with Heather Kissinger, her husband Eric and their kids: Maryjane, Easton and Evan. All three youngsters had emphatically selected Whistler over Disneyland as their preferred vacation spot after watching Return to Earth, a Red Bull film featuring Brandon Semenuk and younger versions of Jackson Goldstone and the Jewett brothers.
I reconnected with the Kissingers last year, both in person and during a Zoom interview about the 25th anniversary bike park feature I was authoring for Whistler Magazine. They can't come this time, but we remain in touch—Maryjane is now entering pro ladies' downhill contests as a 14-year-old and her younger brothers likewise love racing.
Without Crankworx, it's unlikely I'd have such friends in Vermont.
Needless to say, I've gotten to know a few locals as well. These boys and girls seem to get faster every year: Mack Manietta routinely obliterates his U15 bracket with ludicrous times, Anthony Shelly excels on both his bike and his snowboard, while fellow adolescents Cami Bragg, Arleigh Kemp and Ruby Wells are capable of beating adult women. Of course there are many others I could name, but print space is limited.
It is a privilege to tell the stories of Crankworx Whistler. I've been stretched, I've made mistakes and I've grown. I have met many fascinating people, including the aforementioned families and superstar riders from overseas. Some of those superstars remember me, even as I follow their careers back to this mecca of mountain biking.
If you've lived in the Sea to Sky for years, Crankworx might now feel routine to you—but don't take it for granted. As a man who's been around lots of sports, I can say that this event represents the best of both worlds: global talent and grassroots community in one place for 10 memorable days at a time.
Now let's do it again, shall we?
