RAMPAGE PILGRIMAGE
Dishing the dirt on freeride’s most epic event
Words and Images
Todd Couper
From issue 88 2023
I arrive in Las Vegas, Nevada, dead tired after 30 hours of travelling. I pick up my home for the next week, a Dodge Ram Promaster (nicknamed “Wrench”) that’s decked-out for freedom camping in the “Land of the Free”. After leaving the neon-glow confusion of Las Vegas, I finally pull over on the side of a dark desert highway for some much-needed sleep.
The next morning I’m back rolling down Interstate 15, still adjusting to driving on the other side of the road. Someone is blocking the fast lane, and the rising road rage culminates in a Ford F-250 angrily using the grass verge to pass.
Meanwhile, I’m just trying my best not to be distracted by the stunning landscape. It’s everything you imagine from the cowboy movies of yore – baked lasagne-like mountains of rock and red dirt piercing the horizon of a vast, arid land.
“It’s everything you imagine from the cowboy movies of yore – baked lasagne-like mountains of rock and red dirt piercing the horizon of a vast, arid land.”
The destination is Virgin, Utah – the birthplace of mainstream freeride mountain biking and the home of its pinnacle event, Red Bull Rampage. It’s a spectacle I’ve grown up watching. Now it’s time to see it for real.
A couple more hours on the road and I’ve found my first proper campsite. It’s another spot just off the highway, but this time I’m surrounded by endless drops and jumps in the middle of the original Rampage site.
A family on their annual Rampage pilgrimage from Houston, Texas, pulls up. Their 14-year-old son, Ezra, is straight into riding, throwing down stylish nacs and no-handers off big features. I couldn’t help but let a few rounds off the shutter. On the way back to the van, I bump into three Kiwis I’ve never met before, despite all of us coming from Queenstown: small planet.
The next morning I’m brewing coffee and watching a couple of groms send old Rampage lines. Well-caffeinated and fully stoked, I jump into the back of a Ford F-150, which bumps and rattles its way deep into the mountains of rock and dust to the basecamp of Rampage 2023. It’s hard to believe that I was in Christchurch just 48 hours ago.
The scale of 20 years of freeride progression here is hard to fathom. If Queenstown’s Dream Track makes your hands sweat, Rampage will cause dehydration in a matter of minutes – it’s into-the-stratosphere big, with nauseating and death-defying exposure in every direction.
Less than two minutes into exploring the venue, I spot Kiwi rider and trail-builder Phil McLean on his way to finish a jump for Swedish slopestyle star Emil Johansson. This is Phil’s fourth year shifting, stacking, and packing dirt in the desert. I spend part of the day picking his brain on how a Christchurch kid found himself working for some of the top athletes in the sport.
Phil began his journey sculpting dirt at the age of 10 while on a camping trip with his family. His dream was to build big mountain features – it’s all he watched – but he couldn’t afford a downhill bike, so dirt jumping became his foundation. Eventually he found his passion digging at the late, great, Bowenvale dirt jumps.
“To have good jumps, sometimes you have to build them yourself. A lot of people don’t understand that,” Phil explains. “I’ve always wanted more than what existed. You just need to create stuff.”
“To have good jumps, sometimes you have to build them yourself. A lot of people don’t understand that.”
Without the funds, but still looking to the mountains, he eventually found himself borrowing bigger bikes from friends and family. Experimenting with racing and trick progression consumed his time, and this commitment led to minor sponsorships and the ability to compete in local slopestyle events like the Queenstown Mountain Bike Festival.
Soon he was boarding a plane to the United States to try his hand at the Highland Bike Fest. Unfortunately, without enough experience on larger jumps, he struggled to find his flow.
“It was hard adapting to the jumps that were two or three times bigger than what New Zealand had,” he says.
The pressure of keeping up with the sport’s rapid progression meant taking risks, followed, inevitably, by injuries. Enforced time off the bike couldn’t keep Phil away from the culture, though.
“I never quite made the fantasy of riding this stuff, but an invitation to dig the Joy Ride course at Crankworx led to one thing, which led to another, and meant I could still be actively involved and keep the dream alive.”
2023 is Phil’s fourth Rampage, with the big-name lines of Bas Van Steenberg and Recce Wallace already notched on his belt. His crowning highlight, though, was winning the “Build Crew of the Year” award in 2022 after Brett Rheeder’s winning run.
So, how exactly do you pick a line at Rampage?
“We have a scout day where everyone is sent out on the hill to look together,” Phil explains. “Typically, you find a feature or two you really want to work with, and, if you meet up with the right people at the right time, you can discuss sharing features.
“Come digging time, you just need to make sure everyone knows where they’re at and what they want,” Phil says. “Otherwise, hopefully, you find some compromise on those converging lines and sharing the workload – but it doesn’t always play out that way.”
“I’ve got no idea how they did this back at the original Rampage, with so little water and carrying it all up in backpacks.”
There’s some serious pressure out here, and not just for the riders. Every athlete is limited to a three-person build crew, including themselves, the use of hand tools only, no timber structures or reinforcing, and 70 sandbags supplied by the event organisers.
There’s a dedicated week of digging followed by a rest day, then another four days of digging mixed with practice.
The site is a shadeless dustbowl and the days are long and gruelling – from sunrise to sunset – with cold mornings and stifling hot afternoons. The only water supply is pumped in from a well over the hill and gravity-fed down the rider’s lines.
“I’ve got no idea how they did this back at the original Rampage, with so little water and carrying it all up in backpacks,” Phil muses.
For Phil, the features are as much artwork as they are functional. He leaves his mark with beautifully sculpted dirt and a wall of rock – akin to the schist wall of a Queenstown mansion – ready for Emil Johansson to work his magic on.
I spent the remainder of the afternoon traversing the mountain, my mind melting at every turn. “How the”, “what the”, “really?”. By the time I reach the top, I’m in state of elation and nausea: I can’t believe I’m standing at the top of Rampage, immediately followed by the thought, “they’re going to ride down that!?”
Back at the bottom, Phil, Emil, and Simon Johansson are busy building a big hip for their final feature. I want to help, so they tell me to hike up and turn on the water. As I reach for the tap a massive, eight-legged, hairy beast of a tarantula shoots out. I decide it’s best to stick to the camera.
The next day – Rampage eve – is calm and clear, and riders are dropping in, left, right and centre, taking the chance to tick off their features. Emil is full steeze from the get-go; his line is working perfectly.
It’s all short-lived, unfortunately, as cold, gale-force winds begin ripping through the site. I spend two hours shivering (despite wearing long pants and a down jacket) and struggling to believe I’m sitting in the desert sun.
It’s competition day and I’m awake at 4.45am after two hours of fitful sleep. Strong coffee, breakfast, charged batteries, empty memory cards, water, sunscreen – check. Off we go!
The media shuttles are delayed again. Feeling impatient, I stick out my thumb and hitch a ride in with a German. He’s also here for his first Rampage and is a soon-to-be resident of Queenstown, no less: small planet.
The winds have calmed down from the chaos of yesterday and, before I know it, riders are dropping in.
With so many features and different perspectives, it’s hard to know which athlete to focus on. I settle my lens on Szymon Godziek’s, Clemens Kaudela’s and Bienvenido Aguado’s line – a huge, 17m step-down (if you can clear the second knuckle!), just before they commit to the legendary McGazza’s canyon gap.
Clemens takes a run and butters the first transition. On his second go, he cleans the knuckle to claim the full 17m, and the growing crowd erupts, as the builders and athletes throw high-fives.
Now, I mean who in their right mind decides it’s a good idea to bar-spin to X-up a drop like this? Szymon, that’s who.
Come finals, Bienvenido levels them both with a backflip off the drop, followed by a front-flip over the canyon. Absolute madness. He’s already upside down before leaving the drop; it just doesn’t look right!
Unfortunately, Szymon and Clemens are soon out of the contest after two of the heaviest slams I’ve ever witnessed – high speed, over the bars. It just reminds you of the risks these guys are taking.
Next on the must-see list is Brendan “Brendog” Fairclough’s canyon gap. Like most of the athletes, he’s just a good down-to-earth person, laughing about using “lad math” to work out the speed. You wouldn’t know he’s about drop a near-vertical face, gap Emil’s line, and launch himself with a suicide no-hander over a ridiculously wide and deep canyon. In the words of other athletes and builders, “no-one but Brendog could pull this line off so flawlessly”. This is the definition of zero room for error.
Emil throws down a number, but he can’t make the flat 360 stick on the hip after Brendan’s road gap. A seventh-place finish, and an award for the most stylish rider ain’t a bad result, though. He’s got plenty more Rampages to come, it won’t be long until we see him on that top step.
So, was it worth the trip? If you love Rampage, there’s no question that you should go. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime type of experience, and a hell of an atmosphere. There’s a lot of accessible riding in the surrounding area, breath-taking landscapes, and easy camping options to accommodate any budget. In fact, I’m typing this article and shooting photos of Erik Fedko sending massive table 360s over a nearby jump while I’m lying on the bed of my air-conditioned camper.
In many ways I’ve taken a similar path to Phil; I love riding, but never made the big time, so I took up documenting others crushing it. I get to express my art and experience the excitement without the overwhelming risk.
Until next time, live your dreams. They might change with time, but it could be for the better.