From Flag Tape To Finish Line: Building Whistler's World Cup Track with Marty Gautrey

A World Cup downhill track looks like pure speed on race day, but the real story is the years of scouting, digging, carrying rock, and second-guessing every corner so the world’s fastest riders can push the pace and the sport forward. I connected with Marty Gautry, Whistler Blackcomb’s bike park trail crew manager, to unpack how Whistler’s trails evolved from early, make-it-work machine builds into the modern “science” of jump shaping, landings, and high-traffic maintenance. Along the way, we get into what riders rarely see: how often A-Line gets rebuilt, why irrigation both helps and hurts, and what it takes to keep iconic lines running from spring through late fall. Then we go deep on Creekside and the long build toward the 1199 World Cup downhill track. Marty explains why the line was so hard to “connect,” how the rock garden demanded thousands of hours of armouring, and shares that access roads for patrol and emergency response can cost as much as the trail itself. We also talk about the pressure of building for the speed of elite racers, where top riders may take sections with no brakes, forcing late changes to corners, landings, and compressions to keep things fast but safe. We close with the big questions: should the 1199 World Cup track be open to the public, how do you manage that without destroying it, and what does it mean to showcase a race line that cuts through one of the most beautiful forests in British Columbia? If you care about trail building, downhill mountain bike racing, Whistler Bike Park history, or the behind-the-scenes work that makes progression possible, this conversation is for you. Subscribe, share this with a mate, and leave a review along with your thoughts on whether anyone else should get to ride it.

A World Cup downhill doesn’t land in your backyard by accident. Wendy Robinson of Whistler Blackcomb joins us to share how Whistler’s first UCI Mountain Bike World Cup came together, from the earliest rumours to the decisions that made it real.We talk through how the 1199 Stevie Smith Tribute Track came together over the years: scouting an alignment in the Creekside zone, inviting elite athletes for track walks, and adjusting features, transitions, and line options based on pro rider feedback. Wendy also explains why this isn’t only about one marquee race weekend. A true World Cup-level downhill track becomes a training ground that helps Canadian riders and juniors build skills on terrain that matches the pace, pressure, and technical demands of modern downhill mountain biking.Then we get into the less-visible work that makes the show run: safety systems like World Cup-grade alpine netting and deflection fencing, start-ramp adjustments, paddock and expo planning, and how Whistler approaches crowd energy without risking the kind of finish-line chaos we’ve seen elsewhere. We also share spectator tips, including why qualifying day can be the best time to support local talent before finals and to see intense racing as the entry list is cut back for Sunday.If you care about Whistler, racing, or what it takes to host a global mountain bike event, hit play. Subscribe, share this with your friends, and leave a review with your prediction: who thrives on 1199?

What if the trail that scares you most is the one that finally sets you free? We sit down with illustrator and writer Cy Whitling to chart a life that moved from a Christian nationalist upbringing in northern Idaho to the loamy corners of Bellingham, where bikes, art, and community remapped everything. Cy shares how a humble hardtail, a generous shop mentor, and a dog-eared Kona catalog cracked open a worldview built on fear. College layered in skiing, search and rescue, and daily contact with people whose empathy outshone dogma, leading to the hard choice to cut ties and build a chosen family.From there, the conversation digs into identity and inclusion. Cy explains why he came out as bi while releasing a Pride poster, the backlash that followed, and the deeper connections that made it worth it. We explore queerness in mountain biking—how pronouns and representation signal safety, why bisexuality is often misunderstood, and where the industry quietly leads with real people doing real work. His art choices are purpose-built: animal characters to widen identification, a notes-app pipeline to capture trailhead truths, and weekly comics that make riders feel seen. We talk creative process, deadlines, and how to balance integrity with sustainability without turning art into merch purgatory.Finally, we ride west. A solo road trip to Seattle and Bellingham becomes a revelation: steep loam, rock rolls, and a birthday party reached by bike, not car. Cy’s skills jump by necessity, pulled forward by friends who ride the impossible and a community that makes fast feel safe. He contrasts mountain biking’s professionalism with skiing’s precarity, reflects on avalanche fatalities that changed his risk tolerance, and shares why he’s still hungry to make work that gives more than it takes. Hit play for a story about leaving control, choosing compassion, and finding home on two wheels.If this conversation moves you, follow, share with a friend, and leave a review to help others find it.

Precision isn't just a goal for Abbey Tools founder Jason Quaid—it's a religion. From humble beginnings as a welder crafting nuclear-grade pressure vessels to becoming the creator of the cycling world's most coveted tools, Jason's journey exemplifies how passion and craftsmanship can transform an industry.The story begins with a simple phone call and a modified lockring tool that would become known as the "Crombie Tool." What started as a favor for a fellow race mechanic quickly evolved into a business when Jason brought his first batch of 100 tools to the Cascade Cycling Classic in Bend, Oregon. Every mechanic with cash in their pocket bought one, and those who didn't returned the next day. That immediate validation launched Abbey Tools into existence.Unlike most manufacturing operations today, Abbey maintains control over nearly every aspect of production at their facility in Bend. The five-person operation machines, weld, and assemble each tool with meticulous attention to detail. "We spend almost as much time inspecting the parts that go into the HAG (Hanger Alignment Gauge) as we do making them," Jason explains. This commitment to quality is evident in products like their titanium hammer—a tool that Jason initially thought was "one of the dumbest things anybody had ever asked me to make," but later realized had elegance and utility.What makes Abbey's approach unique is their unwavering focus on function while still creating tools beautiful enough to be considered functional art. Though initially designed with professional race mechanics in mind, their tools have found an enthusiastic audience among home mechanics who appreciate quality equipment. From bottom bracket sockets to their renowned truing stand, each piece reflects Jason's philosophy that if you're going to invest in the precise engineering and execution, why not make the finished product visually stunning too?Whether you're a professional wrench or a weekend warrior who takes pride in maintaining your own bikes, Abbey Tools represents the pinnacle of quality in an industry where precision increasingly matters. As drivetrains evolve from 8 speeds to 13 in the same hub space, the margin for error shrinks—making tools that deliver exacting results more valuable than ever.Want to see craftsmanship elevated to an art form? Explore what happens when a skilled tradesman brings his expertise to the cycling world and refuses to compromise on quality.

When Dustin Adams founded We Are One Composites in 2017, the mountain biking industry experts said it couldn't be done. Manufacturing carbon fiber rims in Canada? Economically impossible. Yet Adams, a former World Cup downhill racer with podium finishes and Canadian Championship titles to his name, wasn't deterred by conventional wisdom.Selling everything he owned—including his comfortable Squamish home—Adams moved his family to Kamloops, bought a "rat-infested" house that needed work, and started We Are One with just five people and enough cash to last eight months. The pressure was immense, but the team delivered, pioneering revolutionary manufacturing techniques that allowed them to produce carbon rims with "Class A out of the mold" finishes that eliminated costly post-production work.This behind-the-scenes conversation reveals the stunning reality of building a manufacturing business with minimal investment in an industry dominated by Asian production. Adams speaks candidly about his extraordinary journey from making those first carbon rims to fulfilling his boyhood dream of creating the Arrival—a fully Canadian-made carbon fiber mountain bike that received universal praise for its ride quality and construction.The discussion takes unexpected turns as Adams explains why production of the Arrival was paused despite representing 50% of company revenue, and how We Are One's unique manufacturing approach has positioned them perfectly to navigate recent tariff challenges that are devastating competitors. His insights into the current state of mountain biking—including the rapid shift toward electric mountain bikes and what that means for traditional bike manufacturers—provide a fascinating glimpse into industry trends.Perhaps most moving is Adams' commitment to giving back to the sport that shaped his life. Now coaching young downhill racers through the Kamloops DH Union, he's helping develop the next generation of Canadian talent. As for We Are One's future? Expansion into new product categories, continued manufacturing innovation, and perhaps—when the time is right—a return to frame production are all on the horizon.

Deniz Merdano sits down with North Shore freerider Steve Vanderhoek to discuss his day-to-day life as a firefighter and how it influences his decisions when pioneering some of the most progressive lines on the North Shore, as well as an exciting new project that Steve is working on, set to release in the spring of 2025.

If you don’t know the name Caleb Holonko, you should, and you likely will soon. Caleb is one of the rising stars in the world of freeride, and he’s taken the North Shore by storm, building some incredible moves that are not only massive in scale but also clever, creative and beautiful to look at. And he rides them with heaps of style and incredible precision. Caleb’s also made a habit of putting new twists on moves others built, with the other builder’s permission. Caleb hit the train gap made famous by Kenny Smith, but he built up the lip and backflipped the enormous gap over the tracks. Similarly, Kenny built a huge step down to a suspended platform—the Rutherford Lily-pad—and Caleb gapped right over the lily-pad. It’s not all about big moves for Caleb, though; he also spends countless hours building trails that all of us can ride. He also won the builders award at Red Bull Rampage in 2023, working for Reed Boggs alongside Alan Mandel.

Unless you’ve met him at a race or listened to him on another podcast, you may not have heard of Mark Fitzsimmons, or Fitzy as he’s known to friends. He’s one of the unsung heroes of the mountain bike world. Fitzy is famous to a certain sort of person though: World Cup racers. He’s helped riders like Greg Minnaar, Aaron Gwin and Steve Peat go even faster, working for Fox Racing supporting the Santa Cruz syndicate and other race teams.More recently Mark took up motor cycle racing - virtually every kind of motor cycle racing - and he wins on both dirt and pavement. He’s a knee dragging badass and a wicked mountain biker as well. Please have a listen to my conversation with Mark Fitzsimmons where we talk about working with pro athletes, racing motorcycles, and having mountain lions as neighbours.Cam McRae

For our first Podcast with Mike Ferrentino, he was home on the acreage where he lives, inland from the coast up the Carmel Valley. Mike lives in a barn filled with bikes and motorcycles, the latter in various stages of decomposition. He's a decent distance from civilization, and from the internet. Mike's connectivity relies on tethering to his phone's sketchy data signal so while we were talking the first time I would lose his picture, and sometimes his voice, for long stretches. There was also a delay I was unaware of, that caused me to walk over Mike's words quite regularly. This time around Mike had a better solution. He jumped into his Ford Transit,(which he got in trade for the Sprinter he mentions in the podcast) found a spot that was quiet and set up his mic. I lost him a couple of times, and once we got disconnected completely, but overall it was like going from hieroglyphics to Morse Code.We dug a little deeper into Mike's time at bike magazine, particularly the glory days before corporate takeovers, talked about his six years working for Santa Cruz Bikes at the old cannery location, and even discussed mountain biking's newest marketing designation; Downcountry! We also talked about "shaping the destiny of mountain biking," about spectating, working for 'the man,' and being "strapped into a rocket car without a steering wheel."And this made me realize all the things we didn't cover. But those will have to wait until next time.Please enjoy our second podcast with the incomparable Mike Ferrentino.