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On the shoulders of giants

Virtually all great breakthroughs happen at the margins.
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Virtually all great breakthroughs happen at the margins. I had an economics prof who used to say that over and over again though, if pressed, he'd probably admit he lifted the idea from Einstein who, in turn, borrowed it from Sir Isaac Newton who might have thought of it when the apple hit him on the head and reminded him of early man's discovery of fire and the wheel.

It was, after all, Isaac who said, "If I have seen further it is only by standing on the shoulders of giants." And while there On the shoulders of giants

don't seem to be as many giants around as there used to be, great discoveries still tend to happen when the void between disciplines is bridged by some smart cookie who looks up long enough to see past his or her nose.

Researchers who single-mindedly pursue their own narrow field tend to make incremental discoveries. Some are groundbreaking but most are merely refinements of accepted knowledge. There is, however, a magical combination of serendipity and an ability to see outside of their immediate pursuit that leads to things like Alexander Fleming's discovery of penicillin, or Philo Farnsworth's invention - perhaps an overstatement given what so many others were doing simultaneously - of television transmission. This is the terrain of great discovery.

A more immediate and approachable example of that is the "aha" moment that takes place some days when people are up skiing and riding on the mountains. There's nothing quite like sliding down a snowy slope to fix one's attention to the immediate challenges ahead. Whether that challenge is a steep, tricky line, a murderous mogul field or simply a well-groomed blue run, when you're operating at the edge of your own envelope, your world collapses into the space immediately ahead of you.

But when you stop to let your muscles catch up to the demands of the turns you haven't made yet, when you strain to catch your breath and give yourself a moment to look up, your soul expands to embrace the achingly beautiful scene around you - snow-capped peaks expanding to the arc of the Earth at your horizon or, maybe if you're lucky, snowy islands in a murky sea of roiling cloud you're about to plunge into. It's not a discovery that'll change the world but it is a sight that'll change your perception of your place in it if you're open to that change. Suddenly your accomplishments seem both bold and insignificant, a duality sure to keep your ego in check if you reflect on it.

Another "discovery" that was only mildly earthshaking - but leads quite nicely to wherever I'm heading with this - occurred in 1972. From 1940 to 1955, McDonald's was a tiny hamburger chain that did for burgers what Henry Ford did for cars, revolutionized how they were made and marketed. In 1955, Ray Kroc set the model for franchising fast food and suddenly billions were served... lunch, dinner and late-night snacks.

In 1972, some McPerson lost to history said, "How come we don't serve breakfast?" The answer, implied by the fact they'd never served breakfast before, was both simple and narrow. "Nobody eats hamburgers for breakfast."

But they had restaurants, suppliers, loyal customers and staff. Why not serve breakfast? Just because breakfast at the time meant eggs and bacon, cereal and fruit, pancakes and sausages didn't mean people might not be hungry for something that kind of tasted like some of those things but were as convenient and fast as burgers for lunch. Voila! With virtually no additional capital investment, only the incremental expenses of food, power and labour, McDonald's poured cash onto their bottom line like they were printing it in the basement. Breakfast was a simple thought that had occurred to no one at the company until someone looked up and saw the possibilities.

Likewise, a bunch of bike riders and racers in Marin County, California, looked around at Mt. Tamalpais in the early 1970s and thought it'd be really cool to have a bike race from the top to the bottom. They'd all done time on road bikes - the only "real" way to race bikes - and they were all up for a new challenge. Tinkering around and losing skin in trial and error testing, guys like Joe Breeze, Otis Guy, Gary Fisher and Tom Ritchey eventually began building and racing what grew into a multi-billion dollar industry: mountain bikes.

When mountain bikes first began to appear in bike shops in the later '70s, they were one of those "Why didn't I think of that?" revelations. Drawing on old-school, balloon-tired newsboy bikes and grafting modern frames, cantilevered brakes and handlebar shifters from road racers, the promise of mountain bikes was immediately apparent to anyone who loved to ride. They offered freedom from the road and, more importantly, freedom from idiot drivers who simply couldn't or wouldn't see bikes in front of them.

And then, there was that heart-pumping allure of gravity.

The rest is history and that history will be showing itself off in its most cutting-edge, modern form when Kokanee Crankworx rolls - flies - into town this week for its nine-day run of bike craziness.

Whistler Mountain had its own breakfast-at-McDonald's moment in 1999 when some smart guys who are way too modest to want to be named here convinced people who thought they were running a ski hill to think in terms of off-season mountain biking. The capital expense was more substantial than buying eggs but the payoff has been tremendous both in a monetary sense and by placing Whistler at the pinnacle of the mountain bike world and transforming Tiny Town into a four season resort in a way the Bjorn Borg tennis facility never would have in its proponents' wildest dreams.

The payoff from the bike park and Crankworx has benefitted every business in Whistler and put the resort on the radar of an entire adrenaline-fueled population who've never given a second thought to visiting the place in winter. As the Goddess of Physiotherapy says, since the bike park opened, the only shoulder season she has revolves around dislocated shoulders.

So for the next week, come on out and witness the mayhem of modern gladiators screaming downhill, flying off impossible rock faces, doing things in the air that make Big Air competitions seem earthbound and generally performing stunts on bikes that make the words "Do not try this at home" seem like a pointless warning. And if, like me, you believe the best bike ride is one where you come home with all the skin you left with, there's music, arts, nightlife and plenty to do that doesn't involve trips to the clinic or the physio.

The wheels go 'round and 'round.