“The Test Of Metal is one of my favourite
races. It’s great, ya know — a
true test of a rider’s skills. But the Cheakamus Challenge, well, I’d
have to say that’s the final exam…”
– Grant Lamont
By Michel Beaudry
It all started with an event called the See Colours and Puke race. Or at least that’s how Grant Lamont tells it. And considering how much this offbeat race director loves spinning a good mountain bike tale, I’ve decided to go with him on this one. It’s a fun ride. Come along, it won’t hurt a bit, it’s mostly downhill.
“It was a wonderful race,” Lamont says with a barely suppressed grin. We’re sitting on a south-facing veranda at Creekside in late afternoon, enjoying the warmish September sun. For the last two hours Grant has been reminiscing on his 20+ years in Whistler. And it’s been highly entertaining. But now we’re down to the Ur-story. The source of it all…
And Grant is in full and glorious story mode. “Well anyways, it was held in the mid 1980s, and the start was down at the Black Bear Restaurant. Dores Burma, who owned Summit Cycles, put it on.” He pauses for a beat. “It was a really simple concept. Everyone would alter their state in the restaurant’s parking lot and then they’d all jump on their bikes and pedal like mad to Whistler.” He pauses. Looks at me again. “You sure you weren’t on one of those rides?”
Can’t say that I was…
He goes on: “The terrain was killer. Aggregate, rec road, gravel, single track, mud: there was a little bit of everything.” He stops. Barks out one of those great Lamont guffaws. “I got sucked in to racing it one year. It wasn’t as long as what we do now — maybe 50k — but the tempo was wicked from start to finish. And I can tell ya — it really lived up to its name. It was awesome…”
For those who don’t follow mountain biking, or don’t pay attention to iconic events, or don’t understand what the local biking community has done for the economy of Sea to Sky Country in recent years, let me remind you that next weekend marks the 19 th running of the near-mythical Cheakamus Challenge. Arguably the most technical — and maybe even the most difficult — point-to-point mountain bike race in the world, the event attracts athletes from around the globe. Indeed, for many it’s an annual ritual — which is why its start list reads like a who’s-who of off-road biking royalty.
But what makes the Cheakamus Challenge so interesting to me is its genesis. It’s one of those whacky Whistler projects that defied all the odds — and still won. A volunteer-driven event run by a semi-outlaw, seat-of-the-pants, funhog race director that not only survived without getting gobbled up by the big guys but thrived and grew while steadily adding lustre to Whistler’s reputation as the off-road cycling crossroads of the universe.
Don’t roll your eyes. Whistler is one of the great global gathering spots for cyclists. And yes, there’s some great hucking to be had in W/B’s terrain park. But it’s the uniquely-wrought (and free!) network of Coast range single-track trails that have been built over the last 20 years in this region — the very terrain that the Cheakamus Challenge celebrates — that really sets us apart from the “we-have-a terrain-park-too” bike-resort herd.
But back to Grant’s story.
“Well,” he says, “after Dores decided she didn’t want to organize it anymore, the race kind of lapsed for a few years. Meanwhile, I was putting on road races, you know, stuff like managing the cycling segment for the Ironman Canada.” Another happy chuckle. “That one was a really fun job — we got to bomb around all over the course on motorcycles.” Given that the bike segment of an Ironman is over 100 miles in length — and knowing Grant’s propensity for having “fun” — I can easily imagine the kind of “work” Lamont was up to…
But I’m getting sidetracked again. In the Fall of 1989, Lamont decided to revive that crazy Squamish-to-Whistler race he’d enjoyed so much a few years back. “Todd McPhelan really helped me out that first year,” he recounts. “He was an old roadie and really knew his stuff.”
Lest you think this was just a fun little thing to keep Lamont busy between riding and skiing seasons, consider the challenge of managing such an insane race. The logistic issues alone would have defeated a lesser man. Traffic control, trail signage, first aid, security, after-race clean up — it was a management headache of gargantuan proportions. But Grant is one those irremediably optimistic people who refuse to see roadblocks even when they’re staring him right in the face. And he has a lot of friends.
“I’m blessed,” he admits. “My crew — you know, people like my wife Caroline, Phil Chew, Stephanie Reeser, our muni connection Keith Bennett, Charlie Doyle, Gordie Huxtable, Jorge and the boys at Toad Hall — they’ve been saving my ass for years. To me, that’s what life is all about: people…”
So where were we? Oh yeah — the first official Cheakamus Challenge attracted a grand total of 80 participants. “But the word got around really fast,” he says. “I guess it was the kind of race that really struck a chord with riders. For our numbers pretty much doubled every year until 1994.” And that was the year when the proverbial merde decided to seek the fan.
“We had over 190 people pre-registered for that ’94 edition,” he remembers. “And we thought that was pretty good.” That year, Lamont and his buddy Lumpy Liedel decided to spend the pre-race night on-site. “We woke up a little rough that morning — we’d had a bit of a session the evening before — so Lumpy sticks his head out of his Volksy and suddenly he’s shouting at me: ‘Dude! Where did all these people come from?’ We were literally surrounded. Over 900 people had shown up for the race…”
He laughs. “My mind went automatically into overdrive. Caroline was handling the registrations so I knew that was all good.” He pauses for just a beat. “And I figured the rest of the crew would be fine with it too. So we decided — let’s just run ’em all.”
Those who were living in the corridor in 1994 can probably still remember the public uproar that resulted from that race. Turns out that Lamont’s traffic control team had been recruited from some of the tougher elements in the valley that year — “we had very strong young men on that crew,” he says proudly — and they managed to close down Highway 99 completely while the 900-odd cyclists worked their way from the end of the Cheakamus Canyon trail all the way to the Lucille Lake turnoff — a not inconsiderable amount of down time for our busy little roadway.
Alas, it was also the weekend that the British Car Club of B.C. decided to hold their annual rally at Whistler.
“It was a mess,” admits Lamont. And I’m just about to commiserate with him over the event’s bad timing when he delivers his punchline. “There were old English wrecks all up and down the highway — broken-down, overheated, you name it. Those guys had no clue about mountain driving. Good thing my guys were there to help out. ” And he unleashes another Lamont chortle. “You know,” he continues. “No matter what anybody says, it’s way easier to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission.”
That could easily be the event’s motto…
But seriously: I’m curious about memorable moments for Lamont during the last 19 years. It’s patently clear after our discussion that he’s passionate about the Cheakamus Challenge. So, is there an anecdote that encapsulates what the event really represents for him? He takes a moment to think. Then he launches into another story.
“There’s this buddy of mine, Huey Tollet — maybe you know him, he’s the guy behind Whistlerforthedisabled.com — well, he decides he wants to get into bike racing. I mean, this guy is crazier than an outhouse rat. He’s got no balance, he can’t hear, but he’s tough as nails. In that creaky, rough voice of his he keeps haranguing me: ‘I gotta do the Cheakamus. I gotta do the Cheakamus.’ At first I’m not too keen, but he insists. So I finally tell him ‘Okay, you can race.’ And sure enough, on the morning of the race, there he is on this old piece of crap ready to go…”
Many hours later, Lamont finds himself in the finish area dealing with one of the minor skirmishes that invariably happen on race day. “This rider is wailing on me because he says his time was three seconds faster than the official posted time. And I’m trying to keep my cool. Suddenly out of the corner of my eye I see this guy come wobbling across the finish line.”
He laughs. “It’s Huey. And he looks totally done for. I mean, he is completely spent. But he made it. So I tell Mr. Complainer: ‘I’m really sorry dude — you’ll have to excuse me — but my buddy over there just finished the race. And I want to go over and congratulate him.’ So that’s what I did.” Lamont stops speaking again. Smiles. “To me, it’s riders like Huey who make the Cheakamus Challenge what it is. Simply put: it’s a race for hard guys… and hard gals.”
