Long before the birth of my daughter, Sophie, last spring, I was disillusioned with the American way of parenting. Many of my objections led back to a single overarching theme: we no longer cultivate in our children a healthy relationship with outdoor play.

The problem is familiar: recent studies show that unstructured time outside鈥攔eferred to as free play, in the words of child development experts鈥攊mproves mental and physical well-being, yet kids can鈥檛 peel themselves away from their tablets and smartphones and Xboxes for more than a few minutes at a stretch. When outdoor activities are present at all, the emphasis is narrowly focused on sport specialization and competitive achievement. Where I live, near Aspen, Colorado, I see kids monitored so closely by parents that any semblance of self-direction or self-reliance is lost. That鈥檚 not how I want to raise Sophie. I want her to do her own thing, try a number of activities, and build up the kinds of skills that will enable her to find joy in the outdoors.

In the weeks leading up to her birth, I researched countries that take a different approach to parenting. I came across a 2020 study published in The Lancet, England鈥檚 most prominent peer-reviewed medical journal, that identified various mental and physical metrics among children鈥攅verything from happiness and life satisfaction to nutrition and health鈥攁nd ranked countries accordingly. The United States came in 39th. At the top of the list: Norway.

The report raised an obvious question: Why are Norwegian parents doing so much better than Americans are?

As I discovered, access to the outdoors and an appreciation for free play are essential.

My research was helped along by a happy coincidence. Earlier last year, I met a Norwegian-American family named the Lockers who鈥檇 recently moved to Aspen. A few months before Sophie was born, I sat down with John and Camilla Locker to get their perspective on Norwegian-style outdoor-centric parenting. John is from New York City; Camilla was born and raised in Oslo. During the pandemic, the family moved to Norway and sent their three-and-a-half-year-old son to a forest school鈥攁 preschool that primarily happens outdoors.

鈥淗e came home the first day with a whittling knife,鈥� John said. 鈥淚 was shocked. But they taught him how to use it safely, and soon he was bringing us spoons, bowls, and other things he鈥檇 whittled.鈥�

At forest schools, even inclement weather occasions outdoor fun, the Lockers told me. 鈥淥n rainy days,鈥� Camilla recalled, 鈥渢hey put a big tarp on a hill, covered it in soap, and let the kids slide down.鈥� The children took naps outside in the dead of winter.

鈥淭hat鈥檚 because we wear wool,鈥� said Norwegian Anine Husebye Haug. Haug, 22, was staying with the Lockers for the winter, and she offered anecdotes from her own upbringing. She was shocked by the poor outerwear choices she saw in Colorado. 鈥淎mericans wear the wrong clothes鈥攕ynthetics!鈥攕o when they鈥檙e skiing, they must come in for hot chocolate every two runs. We never come in.鈥� Turns out those heavy woolen sweaters are more than a fashion statement.

Such experiences鈥攁ttending a forest school, sleeping outdoors in winter鈥攁re part of Norwegians鈥� national identity, which in part is rooted in wilderness capability and resilience. Axel Rosenberg, a lecturer at the Norwegian School of Sport Sciences in Oslo, told me that this trait is captured by the word friluftsliv. (Don鈥檛 bother trying to pronounce it.) The term dates back to the late 19th century and was popularized by Roald Amundsen, who in 1911 became the first explorer to reach the South Pole.

鈥淟iterally translated, it means 鈥榦pen-air life,鈥欌�夆�� Rosenberg said. 鈥淚t鈥檚 how we think about nature, how we relate to nature, and how we integrate nature into our daily lives.鈥�

The term is credited to Henrik Ibsen, who used it in the 1859 poem 鈥淥n the Heights,鈥� about a farmer鈥檚 yearlong trek through the wilderness. Later, around the turn of the 20th century, Norwegians sought to set themselves apart from Denmark鈥攖he two countries existed under a unified government until 1814鈥攁nd friluftsliv helped cement a distinctively Norwegian identity. Amundsen, along with explorers Fridtjof Nansen and Paul Knutsen, built on the tradition with their grueling polar expeditions.

鈥淭hey credited friluftsliv for opening their world,鈥� Rosenberg said. 鈥淭he ability to deal with Mother Nature became a benchmark.鈥�

Yet Norwegians weren鈥檛 quite as outdoor savvy as they thought. On Easter Sunday in 1967, a group of 15 Norwegians died from exposure while trekking through the mountains, a tragedy that generated headlines across the country. According to Rosenberg, the incident prompted a shift in Norway鈥檚 outdoor philosophy, with emphasis placed on skills that keep people safe. The country created the Fjellvettreglene, or , a set of backcountry protocols. Schools began exposing students to nature and emphasizing life lessons that could only be absorbed outdoors.

Norway鈥檚 education system embraces trial and error, Rosenberg told me. Kids learn by doing, instead of just being lectured about safety. 鈥淏y starting at a young age, you find out that nature isn鈥檛 dangerous if you stay within your limits,鈥� he said.

When I visited the Lockers, the family emphasized how seriously Norwegian parents take the directive to let kids fail. 鈥淭here鈥檚 no nanny culture, no babysitter culture,鈥� Camilla said. 鈥淚n Norway, kids roam, and they come home filthy and happy.鈥�

According to this philosophy, children participate in outdoor activities from a young age. Not long after learning to walk, they鈥檙e skating around town on plastic skis. They commute to school by bicycle or, in winter, on cross-country skis. Cycling is so important that, at ten years old, kids take a test to ensure they鈥檙e competent riding next to cars on the road.

As their skill set grows, Norwegian children not only build an appreciation for the outdoors, they also improve their coordination, endurance, and ability to problem-solve. 鈥淔ree play鈥攆rom climbing trees to building forts in the woods鈥攊s crucial,鈥� said Kristin Vindhol Evensen, an associate professor at the Norwegian School of Sport Sciences. 鈥淭he interplay between children and the local environment, which could be playgrounds in an urban environment, or the forest, or mountains in a more rural area, is what creates resilience.鈥�

My assumption was that all the early-age competence would lead to ultracompetitive youth leagues. But Norwegians value play and skills acquisition above competition. In 1987, the country ratified the Children鈥檚 Rights in Sport, formal legislation that establishes guidelines for youth sports. Among its main directives is that the primary purpose of sports is to gain skills, make friends, and have fun; there鈥檚 nothing about winning. In fact, the guidelines explicitly ban rankings, keeping score, and timed competition before the age of 11. Another mandate: no child is allowed to participate in a championship event until the age of 13.

The guidelines emphasize enjoyment and self-improvement. Haug told me that a favorite kids鈥� game is to run or ski a one-to-five-kilometer course, then repeat. The goal isn鈥檛 to beat your previous time; it鈥檚 to lock into the same pace and come as close as you can to repeating it. Having grown up in the world of ski racing, I had to laugh.

鈥淓verything is a game鈥攜ou鈥檙e sort of tricked into learning,鈥� Haug told me. 鈥淔rom a very young age, you鈥檒l put on cross-country skis and play games while wearing them, like tag or capture the flag.鈥� Coaches give pointers, but only to help kids develop. At this stage, winning isn鈥檛 the objective.

It鈥檚 difficult to argue with the Norwegian formula. Not only does it turn out adults who are physically fit and seemingly well-adjusted, it also produces some of the best athletes in the world. Norway dominated the past two Winter Olympics. In Beijing in 2022, Norway fielded 84 athletes and won 16 gold medals, the most ever by a single nation at a Winter Games. In contrast, the U.S. sent 224 athletes, won eight golds, and totaled 11 fewer medals than Norway. It was an amazing performance by a country with just five million people.

Norway鈥檚 sporting prowess is also growing away from the snow. In 2022, Casper Ruud became the first tennis player in the nation鈥檚 history to reach the top ten, finishing the year at number three. Triathlete Kristian Blummenfelt is an Olympic gold medalist and Ironman world-record holder; his compatriot Gustav Iden won the Hawaii Ironman in October. Anders Mol and Christian S酶rum are the best beach volleyball team on the planet. Jakob Ingebrigtsen is considered one of the world鈥檚 best middle-distance runners. And hurdler Karsten Warholm won gold at the 2020 Tokyo Games.

鈥淏eing able to play and learn and not worry about competition until you鈥檙e older is a big part of why Norwegian athletes are so successful,鈥� said Felix McGrath, a former member of the U.S. Alpine Ski Team. McGrath saw Norway鈥檚 system up close: he worked as a ski coach there for 20 years. His wife, Selma Lie, was a member of the national cross-country ski team, and the two raised their four kids in Oslo. McGrath鈥檚 son Atle skis for the Norwegian national alpine team and won two World Cup races this past season.

The Norwegian approach has a definite advantage over the competition-crazed American one, McGrath told me. De-emphasizing results in preadolescent kids allows children whose bodies are still developing to thrive. 鈥淚n the U.S., those kids are beaten, and it鈥檚 demoralizing. They end up quitting before they get bigger and stronger and are ready to break through. In Norway, by the time they鈥檙e being timed or keeping score, they鈥檝e reached an age where their bodies and minds have matured enough to compete.鈥�

McGrath wondered if Atle would have risen through the ranks in the U.S. system, where kids are identified as talented (or not) very early on, often before they hit puberty.

My conversations with the Lockers, Rosenberg, McGrath, and others were enlightening, but I had my doubts that raising Sophie the Norwegian way was even possible in the States. Our culture doesn鈥檛 lend itself to free play and outdoor trial and error. Americans are far more litigious鈥攈ence all the helicopter parenting. If Sophie were to fall and break something, my health insurance may make patching her back up challenging and unaffordable.

Still, I believe there are ways I can apply the Norwegian method. Backyard trampolines abound in Norwegian towns and suburbs, and I鈥檓 already plotting how to get permission from my homeowners鈥� association to install one on a patch of community green-space. I鈥檓 also rehearsing ways to persuade Sophie to commute by bicycle. I don鈥檛 want her to get hurt, of course, but I鈥檓 resolved to encourage her to push her boundaries.

Adopting the Norwegian attitude with respect to youth sports will be harder. It鈥檒l be nearly impossible to tell my daughter when she turns 11 that she can鈥檛 play in a soccer game because 鈥淒ad has a better plan,鈥� even though there are a few examples of this model working in the U.S. Richard Williams, the father of Venus and Serena, famously took his daughters off the tournament circuit when they were ten to help them ease into the game. Ted Ligety, the legendary ski racer who won two Olympic gold medals, recently wrote on Instagram about how much he benefited from recreational skiing with friends after training days. Ligety and his buddies abandoned their competition skis for shaped ones and had fun pushing one another on the same slopes the rest of us ski.

鈥淲ithout play and experimentation, I would have stayed an OK ski racer and maybe eventually an OK college skier,鈥� he wrote. 鈥淏ut I played and experimented, and it made all the difference.鈥�

The best advice I received was to keep outdoor activities light and fun. Rosenberg told me about another Norwegian tradition called S酶ndagstur, or 鈥淪unday outing.鈥�

鈥淣orwegians take the family out for the entire day to ski, build a bonfire, and roast hot dogs,鈥� he said. Done, done, and done.

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Mikaela Shiffrin鈥檚 pursuit of history isn鈥檛 the only reason to tune into World Cup skiing this season. New faces on America鈥檚 alpine and cross-country teams are emerging as consistent podium threats鈥攁nd hometown races and new broadcast services make it easier to watch them ascend the rankings. Here鈥檚 how to tune in and what to watch for this competition season:

Mikaela Shiffrin Leads an All-Star U.S. Alpine Team

Having stood atop the World Cup podium 76 times, Shiffrin is only six victories away from tying Lindsey Vonn for the most wins by a female skier. She鈥檚 also only ten wins from tying Ingemar Stenmarks鈥� record of 86, the most victories ever by any skier. In 2019 alone, Shiffrin scored 17 wins, so it鈥檚 certainly possible that she could accomplish both records, which would confirm her, at just 27 years old, as the greatest ski racer ever. Though Shiffrin will garner most of the headlines as she chases those records, it鈥檚 worth keeping an eye on other American skiers. Rookie Ava Sunshine Jemison, who, when she wasn鈥檛 skiing, grew up competing in surf events, finished in the top 30 in her first two World Cup starts (not even Shiffrin accomplished that). On the men鈥檚 side, Vermont鈥檚 Ryan Cochran-Siegle, who won America鈥檚 only medal at last season鈥檚 Olympics (silver in the super G), will compete for the overall title in super G and downhill, and Vail鈥檚 River Radamus, who nearly found the podium in Beijing (fourth in giant slalom), is on track for a tour win in that event. Two skiers coming back from injuries are also worth noting: Breezy Johnson, who got hurt just a few weeks before the Beijing Games, has a chance to win the women鈥檚 overall downhill title. And Tommy Ford, who, during the 2019 season, was in the hunt for the overall Giant Slalom crown before suffering a horrific injury, has already managed a sixth-place finish in this season鈥檚 World Cup opener.

An absolute masterclass first run from this morning at the HERoic Killington Cup presented by Stifel

Mikaela ended the first run on top of the leader board and finished 5th in today鈥檚 slalom World Cup

— U.S. Ski & Snowboard Team (@usskiteam)

Nordic Stars to Watch

American audiences began noticing just how good U.S. cross-country skiers had become in 2018, when Jessie Diggins and Kikkan Randall won Olympic gold in the team sprint event. Randall has retired, but Diggins and the rest of the women鈥檚 squad is still racking up victories on the World Cup. Diggins won the overall World Cup title in 2021, making her only the second American to accomplish that feat (Bill Koch won the overall in 1982). Julia Kern and Hailey Swirlbul have both earned podium results. And Rosie Brennan has won multiple World Cup races. In addition, the men鈥檚 team is greatly improved. Vermonter Ben Ogden was 12th in the sprint race at the Beijing Games (the best sprint result at the Olympics by an American man), and Scott Patterson and Zak Ketterson teamed with Brennan and Diggins to win a World Cup mixed relay last season.

What a FINAL!

Jessie Diggins wins the first-ever sprint medal in cross-country skiing for at the Olympic Games! Rosie Brennan finishes in fourth!

— NBC Olympics & Paralympics (@NBCOlympics)

New Technology Powers the Stars

If your favorite American ski racers look sharper this season as he or she carves through courses, it might be due to technology that the U.S. Ski and Snowboard Team began developing just prior to the pandemic. The tech, called Slope Sense is a monitor attached to skiers鈥� back protectors. Using GPS and IMUs (an electronic device that measures inertia), the team can now detect the forces on a skier鈥檚 body鈥攁t 100 times per second鈥攖hroughout the turn. Using that data, the team has been able to build a proprietary exercise machine that mimics exactly those forces, allowing skiers to get the same sensation of going in and out of gates right in the gym.

The U.S. Becomes a World Cup Destination

For the first time in history, the U.S. will host eight World Cup events. That means there鈥檚 more opportunity than ever to watch your favorite athletes compete. Included in the collection of events are aerial and mogul competitions in Utah and freeski and snowboard competitions in Colorado and California. There are also several alpine ski races, first at Killington Mountain in Vermont (women鈥檚 slalom and giant slalom) in November, then at Beaver Creek, Colorado for men鈥檚 super-G and downhill in December. There鈥檚 also a series at Palisades Tahoe in Lake Tahoe, California (men鈥檚 slalom and giant slalom) in February. But perhaps the most exciting news is that World Cup racing will return to Aspen, Colorado in March, where the men will take on one of the more iconic tracks for the first time since 2017. Dubbed 鈥淎merica鈥檚 Downhill,鈥� the course is noted for its huge, 100-foot jumps, extreme steeps, and technical turns. If you do make it to Aspen for the race, try getting there early and hike to the bottom of Spring Pitch. There, you鈥檒l be able to see most of Aztec, which includes the steepest section of the course and highest speeds. 鈥淭o be able to hold the lead and dominate on home snow felt like defending the honor of American skiing,鈥� AJ Kitt, an American downhiller, once wrote. 鈥淚 felt the whole country on my shoulders鈥攊n a good way.鈥�

You can watch Ryan Cochran-Siegle and the rest of the men鈥檚 speed squad for FREE on this weekend

Don鈥檛 miss out as they compete on U.S. soil at

— U.S. Ski & Snowboard Team (@usskiteam)

New Ways to Watch

Through a new partnership with the U.S. Ski and Snowboard Team, 国产吃瓜黑料+ is streaming .听NBC platforms will also broadcast 19 hours of coverage of domestic World Cup events across their platforms, including live and tape-delayed coverage on NBC, CNBC, and Peacock. Skiandsnowboard.live will stream events abroad (a season鈥檚 pass costs $16), except for events held in Austria. There鈥檚 a complicated story behind Austria鈥檚 broadcast rights to World Cup events, but they have struck a deal this year with NBC. So, to watch the Hahnenkamm, Flachau, and Stubai races, you鈥檒l need a Peacock subscription.

The post Five Story Lines to Follow with the U.S. Ski and Snowboard Team appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

I鈥檓 biking as fast as I can down a mile-long ribbon of singletrack in Utah鈥檚 Wasatch Mountains, navigating roots, lips, a miniature rock garden, and an abundance of turns鈥攅verything from big, swooping corners and twisty hairpins to fall-away berms. My breathing is heavy as I try to maintain my pace. When I arrive at the bottom, I check my time: a solid three minutes and 13 seconds, for an average speed of 17.8 miles per hour. But I want to go faster. And in a week or so, I absolutely expect to.

The day before, I downloaded , an app that lets duffers like me get personalized tips and advice from world-class athletes and coaches. Users upload a 20-second video of themselves doing their activity of choice, then choose an expert to work with. The app can connect you to professionals in a range of different sports, including Alex Ferreira, a freestyle skier who won silver at the 2018 Olympics; Steven Nyman, a veteran World Cup ski racer and Olympian; and Shaun Murray, a member of the Wakeboarding Hall of Fame. Ask a question, and before long they respond with advice. The average price for a two-and-half-minute instructional video? Twenty bucks.

Using video for remote coaching is by no means a novel idea. For more than a decade, elite tennis players, golfers, and track and field athletes have relied on it to improve their serve, swing, or stride. In the past few years, video-analysis tools from online platforms such as and have made the process even easier. Then, last year, Willie Ford, formerly of the helmet and goggles manufacturer POC, saw an opportunity to deliver the same kind of instruction to amateur athletes. The result was Givego. 鈥淚t lets anybody have cheap, easy access to coaching, and at the same time provides income to struggling professional athletes, helping offset training and travel costs,鈥� Ford says.

To get started, I uploaded a video of myself riding to the Givego app and then connected with my coach, Lea Davison, a two-time Olympic mountain biker and world champion medalist. I wanted some tips to help with my downhill cornering. 鈥淵ou have picked the hardest and most complicated skill in mountain biking to improve on,鈥� Davison responded. 鈥淓very mountain biker can always improve their cornering.鈥�

She went to work on my clip like a Monday Night Football analyst, freeze-framing the footage and drawing circles and arrows to help explain what was going wrong. Basically, I needed to do a better job of tilting my bike from side to side as I rode. I asked Davison if she could offer a progression of moves to practice. She sent me to a soccer field (a safe place to crash) and told me to tilt the bike with each pedal stroke until the saddle hit the inside of my leg. 鈥淭he arm on the outside of the turn should be at 90 degrees,鈥� she said. 鈥淭he arm on the inside should be straight.鈥� It was great to have a specific drill to work on.

My sole complaint about Givego is that you are allowed only a single follow-up question, and no longer than 250 characters. But it鈥檚 better than nothing. 鈥淥nline coaching isn鈥檛 a cure-all, nor is improving performance always a straightforward matter of getting feedback from an expert,鈥� says Blake Bennett, a professor at the University of Auckland who specializes in coaching. 鈥淏ut having an opportunity to get a few minutes of targeted advice can be helpful.鈥�

I practiced cornering for a week and felt like things were starting to click. So I decided to record a second video and send it to Davison. 鈥淚 do see some improvement,鈥� she replied, noting that my outside-arm angle was closer to 90 degrees and my inside arm was more properly extended. But was I faster? I headed back to the trail and booked it. My time: two minutes and 53 seconds, for an average speed of 19.9 miles per hour. I liked how I felt on the bike and was pleased with my progress. What鈥檚 more, getting better is addictive. I look forward to uploading another video and trying again.

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Rob Gronkowski is not impressed with my look. 鈥淵ou鈥檙e kinda lame,鈥� says the , a man as famous for catching passes from Tom Brady as he is for his party-boy persona. It鈥檚 late March, and Gronk鈥攆resh off his fourth Super Bowl title鈥攁nd I are riding a chairlift at Deer Valley Ski Resort in Park City, Utah. 鈥淵ou鈥檝e got the classic winter jacket on,鈥� he says, as he looks me up and down, assessing my Gore-Tex kit. 鈥淚t鈥檚 nothing special.鈥�

Knowing that the 32-year-old rolled into Gronk Beach鈥攁 2020 event in Miami that he called the 鈥渃hampionship of partying鈥濃�攚earing a denim jacket with the sleeves torn off, I ask him if ripping the sleeves off my coat might improve my style. 鈥淭hat would be better!鈥� he says.

This fashion critique comes from a guy who, today,听has squeezed his six-foot-six-inch, 265-pound body into a blue hooded sweatshirt, a yellow and black zebra-printed buff, and pink, yellow, and blue swimsuit trunks that are pulled snugly over a pair of snow pants. To go powder skiing. Resting on his nose are a pair of oversize sunglasses with splatter-painted red, white, and blue frames and a mirrored lens that covers his face like a windshield. The company that sells them, Pit Viper, has, in just nine years, grown from a ski bum selling shades out of his van to a multimillion-dollar-a-year business with 70 employees, occupying 30,000 square feet of plum office and warehouse space in Salt Lake City.

That meteoric rise has been fueled by a crass and comical marketing campaign that relies on beer-swilling, mullet-wearing, denim-clad bros and ladies performing a host of ill-advised stunts, like jumping snowmobiles over busses; men and women alike getting the tongue-in-cheek pinup treatment; and juvenile, sexually charged jokes and innuendo. That, and plenty of nudity. The brand defies the politically correct climate and sends a message that appeals to a large array of consumers: wear Pit Vipers and you can say and do what you want鈥攖o hell with what anybody else thinks.

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On a damp and overcast morning in early December, I checked out of my hotel in northern New Jersey, walked outside, sucked in a deep breath of smoggy air, then headed off to go skiing in the middle of a swamp. In about an hour, a mega mall called American Dream, located in the New Jersey Meadowlands, just 30 minutes outside , would be opening a听180,000-square-foot indoor ski area. There are around 20 indoor ski facilities worldwide鈥攎ostly in Europe and Asia鈥攂ut this would be the first operation in North America. Lindsey Vonn would be there to cut听the ceremonial ribbon and officially inaugurate听the facility. She鈥檇 take a run down the 1,000-foot slope, then I鈥檇 get my chance to make some turns. It would be the first time I鈥檇 ever skied inside.

I hopped in a Lyft and motored toward the mall, past overflowing dumpsters and construction sites, and in five minutes, MetLife Stadium, where the Giants and Jets play, came into view. Across from the stadium鈥攁ctually, attached to it via a long walkway鈥攊s the mall. Jutting skyward from the mall is a 16-story ramp, where the skiing happens. Anywhere else, the bizarre-looking structure would be an eyesore, but in the Meadowlands鈥攁 vast, polluted, urban marshland鈥攊t sort of fits in.

The building has a troubled past. The idea to construct a mall听that housed an indoor ski area was conceived in 1996. The now defunct Mills Corporation finally broke ground in 2004. It was to be named Xanadu, based on the ancient Mongolian city that Marco Polo once described as having marble palaces, fountains, and meadows. But funding issues delayed progress. Then, in 2009, with a lot of work done but still much more left to do, the economic recession brought the project to a halt. Reportedly, some $2.3 billion had already been spent on the construction. That year,听 wrote that Real Capital Analytics, a research company that tracks real estate investments, had listed Meadowlands Xanadu as the largest of $9.2 billion worth of troubled assets in the New York area. For over a decade, the building sat empty.

鈥淢y family used to go to every Giants game, and we used to stare at the ugly bones of that thing,鈥� says Hannah Follender, a Salt Lake City鈥揵ased lawyer who grew up near the mall. 鈥淚t was basically the butt of every single joke.鈥�

With online retail forcing malls out of business, it seemed the project was forever doomed. But in 2011, Triple Five Group, which owns听Minnesota鈥檚 Mall of America, took control, renaming it American Dream. By early 2019, it was zeroing in on an opening. By now听the cost of building the mall had reached $5 billion, and local residents doubted that it could attract enough business to keep the lights on. The North Jersey Record recently described American听Dream as an听鈥�.鈥�

鈥淔ew people live in the swamp, so anything we build must be big enough to attract a crowd,鈥� the story read. 鈥淏ut big, isolated developments have failed again and again.鈥�

I听walked into the mall, past Christmas decorations and a small line of kids waiting to sit on Santa鈥檚 lap, and up an escalator. I made my way听through a ski shop selling gear from Anon, Burton, Giro, and Head听and headed into the ski facility.

The ski-area portion of the mall is called Big Snow and听is basically a bunny hill inside a warehouse. Giant air-conditioning units attached to the walls keep the place a consistently chilly 28 degrees Fahrenheit. Fixed to the steel support beams听are hundreds of lights and several snowmaking guns, which听over the past two months听have run practically nonstop, covering every inch of slope with three feet of snow.

Near the entrance of Big Snow is a 225-foot-long moving carpet that鈥檚 next to almost imperceptibly inclined beginner terrain. On the far end of the building is a platter lift (sort of like a T-bar). Next to that is a quad chairlift that runs on a cable attached to the ceiling. Underneath the chair is the main ski hill.听Fifty yards wide and, at its steepest, only 26 degrees, the slope resembles a beginner run. A small terrain park with some jumps and rails takes up a portion of the hill. The facility also has a Prinoth grooming machine, which takes laps every few hours to ensure that the surface remains buffed out.

For the grand opening, a DJ spun hip-hop, and several machines cranked听out a veil of bubbles, giving the whole warehouse a听snow-is-falling vibe. But听the place still wasn鈥檛 quite finished. Raw plywood was visible near the entrance, and the wall that the ski area shares with the mall was adorned with large stickers of听stacked wood, a fireplace, and faux deer antlers. Eventually, the company says, a Yard House Brewery, a Lucky Strike bowling alley, and a Hard Rock Caf茅 will occupy the space behind the facility.听

A few hours after the short opening ceremony, during which the executive group said its听thank-yous and Vonn made her ceremonial first run鈥斺�淚t was actually really good, light and fluffy,鈥� she reported鈥攖he ski complex opened to the public for the first time. I put on my boots, clicked into some rental skis, and headed up the lift, a three-and-a-half-minute ride. Six turns and 25 seconds later, I was back at the bottom. Three runs after that, I was already bored. But this place wasn鈥檛 built for me; I live in Jackson, Wyoming, and ski 80 days a year. It was built for guys like McCoy Daboy and Gurey Rodriguez, two snowboarders I met on the lift.

Daboy, who鈥檚 35 and lives in nearby Hoboken, was wearing white-rimmed sunglasses, a neon yellow beanie, ripped jeans, a baggy black coat, and a long, tasseled blue scarf. He hadn鈥檛 snowboarded in three years but liked that Big Snow was听鈥渃lose, it鈥檚 easy, right next to New York. I had to come try it.鈥� Rodriguez, who鈥檚 45 and lives in Manhattan, was wearing similar clothing to his friend. He鈥檇 never snowboarded before and was bit tight-lipped. I asked him if he was nervous. 鈥淚鈥檓 afraid of heights,鈥� he said, looking down from the lift.

鈥淗e was down for the adventure,鈥� said听Daboy. 鈥淲hat is there to do? Drinking and eating? This is something different.鈥�

We got off the lift, and Rodriguez immediately collided with Daboy. Then, as the pair were strapping their boards on, two听kids collided with Rodriguez. The carnage continued to pile up in the unloading area and on the hill. By now听about 200 people had shown up to ski or snowboard, and听as I looked down, at least five of them were strewn across the trail in various states of wipeout. I watched Rodriguez scoot down the entire hill on his butt. Daboy shook his head. 鈥淏ut that鈥檚 how you learn,鈥� he said. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 how you learn.鈥�

The brass at Big Snow is听hoping the impetus to try skiing or snowboarding will drive more people like Rodriguez to the facility. 鈥淭he two biggest barriers to getting people to ski and snowboard is that it鈥檚 hard to get to the mountain and it鈥檚 super expensive,鈥� says Joe Hession, CEO of Snow Operating, the company Triple Five contracted to run Big Snow. 鈥淲e鈥檙e ten miles from downtown Manhattan, so we鈥檝e removed the location barrier. But price was important, too. So if you book online for a full package, you get everything you need for $59.鈥� That includes skis and poles or a snowboard, boots, a helmet, goggles, and outerwear, as well as two hours of skiing and a lesson. Another obvious barrier to the sport that Big Snow removes is the need for winter. The ski area will operate from 10 A.M. to 10 P.M. every day of the year.

Snow Operating estimates that those factors combined will, this year, spur 600,000 people to come ski inside. If that seems ambitious, consider that an indoor ski facility in Dubai has successfully operated in the middle of a desert since 2005. Still, whether Big Snow can be viable is the $5 billion question. Just keeping a听180,000-square-foot building meat-locker cold year-round sounds expensive (Triple Five won鈥檛 disclose exactly how expensive).听

Regardless, lots of people in the ski industry are rooting for the venue鈥檚听success. Jon Rucker, president of Head Skis USA, is one of them. He believes the opening of ski areas like Big Snow are crucial to the survival of a sport that鈥檚 suffering from declining numbers. 鈥淟et鈥檚 face it,鈥� Rucker said, after taking one of the first runs inside the facility. 鈥淪kiing is pretty much as white as snow. So exposing these great sports to different populations is radically important for the future of our business.鈥�

Adrienne Saia Isaac, director of marketing at the National Ski Areas Association, agrees.听鈥淪ometimes I think we forget that even playing in snow can be an uncommon experience for a lot of people, especially in urban areas,鈥� Isacc says. 鈥淓ven if it begins as a novelty, hopefully the experience at a place like Big Snow will inspire visitors to keep coming back.鈥�

That seemed to be the case with Rodriguez.听I bumped into him as I was leaving. He鈥檇 had a tough day鈥攏ot really ever able to get the snowboard to work for him. But he was smiling, and it seemed as though a taste of the sport was enough to pique his interest. 鈥淚鈥檓 coming back,鈥� he told me. 鈥淚 need to try again.鈥�

The post Can a Mall in New Jersey Save Skiing? appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Jake Burton Carpenter, the founder of and one of the pioneers of the sport of snowboarding, died Wednesday night. Carpenter had announced early in the month that he was battling cancer听for a second time. He was 65 and leaves behind his wife Donna and three sons, Timi, George, and Taylor.听

Carpenter grew up in Cedarhurst, New York, eventually moving to southern Vermont in the mid-1970s. He was a skier, but he鈥檇 developed a love for the Snurfer, a piece of plywood that sort of resembled a water ski and could be ridden down snowy hills while standing and holding a rope. Carpenter believed he could improve upon the Snurfer听by shaping a wider board out of better materials and adding bindings. In 1977, working out of a barn in Londonderry, Vermont, Carpenter, who described himself as a 鈥渓oser in shop class,鈥� started using industrial machinery to try to bring his vision to life. Many of the prototypes ended up shooting out of the machines and through the walls of the barn. But he finally produced his first model, the Backhill.

He only sold 300 snowboards that first year and almost gave up. 鈥淚 came incredibly close in the beginning to just bailing on the whole thing,鈥� he told 国产吃瓜黑料 in 2002. Instead, he stuck with it and sold 700 boards the next year.听

But snowboarding had a problem. Ski areas were wary of people riding the new contraptions on their slopes and banned snowboarders from riding the lifts. To get on the hill, boarders resorted to poaching the ski areas by hiking up trails after they鈥檇 closed for the day, or tromping around the backcountry. In 1983, Carpenter reached out to Paul Johnston, then the vice president at Vermont鈥檚 Stratton Mountain Resort.听

鈥淗e approached me one day and said, 鈥榳ill you guys at least try it?鈥欌�� remembers Johnston. 鈥淚 said, bring up some boards and I鈥檒l try it.鈥� Carpenter took Johnston and other executives from Stratton up a bunny slope and tried to teach them how to make the board turn. 鈥淗alf of us couldn鈥檛 even get down the ramp from the chairlift,鈥� says Johnston. 鈥淧eople went into the woods. Nobody wanted to have it on the mountain, but I said I鈥檓 going to try it.鈥� Stratton opened to snowboarders that year.听

Two years later, the resort hosted the U.S. Open, an event that would become the sport鈥檚 preeminent contest. 鈥淗e had a real vision for what he wanted to achieve,鈥� says Johnston. 鈥淚 remember, early on, he showed me a drawing that he鈥檇 done. And half the people on the mountain were skiing and the other half were snowboarding. 鈥楾his is what I want,鈥� he said.鈥�

Carpenter would eventually move his business to Burlington, Vermont, where he鈥檇 grow the company to 950 employees and produce snowboard gear and apparel. The fledgling sport became a billion dollar industry and served as a boon to the snowsports sector. 鈥淲hen we started allowing snowboarding it brought all the kids back out again,鈥� says Johnston. 鈥淲e started to see 200 kids coming out of snowboard school and only 15 kids coming out of ski school.鈥澨�

鈥淎s far as the ski industry was concerned, we didn鈥檛 exist,鈥� Carpenter told me when I interviewed him in 2007听for 国产吃瓜黑料鈥檚 30th anniversary issue. 鈥淭hen we became a nuisance. Then we started getting into resorts, and became a threat. Next thing you know, we were the saviors.鈥�

In 1998, snowboarding became an Olympic sport, and the way it was presented made Carpenter cringe. 鈥淎nimal, a Muppet character, with orange hair and a nose ring鈥攖hat was our mascot,鈥� he told me. 鈥淚n the Nagano Olympics, they spelled 鈥榮nowboarding鈥� wrong.鈥�

The bright spot was Ross Powers,听a Londonderry native who Carpenter had known for years.听鈥淚n fifth grade I remember getting a one-page letter from Jake saying that the company wanted to sponsor me,鈥� he says.听鈥淗e really gave me a chance.鈥� Powers won a bronze medal at Nagano and followed it up with a gold听at the 2002 Olympics in Salt Lake City.听鈥淭his is a big loss in our sport,鈥澨齈owers says. 鈥淲ay too early. But he lived his life to the fullest and affected so many lives and made so many of us part of the snowboard community.鈥澨�

Carpenter was especially proud of that community. 鈥淚 do feel that snowboarding is still a big brotherhood, or sisterhood, in the sense that when you see someone on a snowboard, you鈥檙e going to give them the benefit of the doubt,鈥� he said in 2007. 鈥淵ou just have something in common鈥攖here鈥檚 a bond there.鈥�

The post Burton Snowboard Founder, Jake Burton, Has Died appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

I鈥檝e been skiing for 42 years and have been lucky enough to ski all over the world, including spots in Europe, Japan, and听Alaska. I鈥檝e had lots of incredible powder days, but the best powder day I ever had was in Utah.

It happened 22 years ago. I had just graduated from college and moved to Vail, Colorado, to do some ski bumming. My father met up with me, and we drove to Snowbird in Utah, where my dad鈥檚 cousin had a time-share. When we got there, dark clouds rolled in, and it began to snow. Within a few hours, there was a foot of fresh snow on the ground. It kept听coming down. We were 鈥渋nterlodged鈥濃�攁n event where听avalanches are so likely that it鈥檚 not safe enough to go outside the property鈥攆or two days.

Just as cabin fever began to set in, the skies cleared, avalanche-mitigation bombs echoed through Little Cottonwood Canyon, and, after a few hours, the lifts started turning. On my first run, the snow was chest-deep and billowed over my head. I鈥檇 heard plenty about how Utah had the 鈥済reatest snow on earth鈥� (it鈥檚 even printed on the state鈥檚 license plates), but I鈥檇 always been skeptical. As it turns out, it鈥檚 a scientific fact. Utah鈥檚 dry, cold atmosphere produces snowflakes called dendrites, which are thin and crystal-like听and听so light and fluffy that, when skiing through them, they make you feel buoyant without causing a lot of resistance. As such, powder skiing in Utah is the closest most people will get to floating in space.

That was how I felt all day, but it was my last run听that was truly remarkable. A ski patroller we听met on the chairlift told us he was opening up a new section of the mountain. We followed him, just my father and I, and听after he pulled the rope, he said, 鈥淕o for it.鈥� I found myself on a 45-degree slope, bouncing through the untouched terrain, simultaneously choking on snow and yelping with joy. The impossibly long trail seemed to go on for several minutes. When I finally stopped, I was plucking crystals out of my ears and drunk with euphoria.

I鈥檝e made many more ski trips to Utah since. After all, with ten ski areas less than an hour from the Salt Lake City airport, incredible backcountry terrain, and almost guaranteed powder (each season听Utah averages 18 storms that deliver more than 12 inches of snow each), it鈥檚 arguably the best ski destination in North America. I鈥檝e never been disappointed鈥攁nd this guide will听ensure that you get the most out of Utah skiing, too.

What You Need to Know Before You Go

Bring your ski boots and apparel, but leave your skis at home. If you鈥檙e fortunate to hit a big storm, then you鈥檒l want wide powder skis. That said, even in Utah there can be several consecutive weeks of high-pressure systems that yield听sunny skies and no snowfall. If that鈥檚 the case, you鈥檒l need either a pair of mid-fat, all-mountain skis, which will handle chopped-up snow and bumps better, or, if groomed trails are your jam, narrow carving skis. , founded in Park City, rents a wide array of Rossignols and will drive to wherever you鈥檙e staying and adjust the bindings for you in your living room. If you want to swap out the skis you鈥檙e using, it鈥檒l drive back and do so ($65 per day).

Buy one of these passes. There are five multi-resort passes听worth considering that work at Utah ski areas.听Depending on where you鈥檙e going to ski and how many days you plan on skiing, buying one听makes a lot of sense. For example, a day ticket at Deer Valley costs $160. But an $800 听will get you five days of skiing there, plus five days at Alta, Brighton, Snowbird, and Solitude. The $1,100 version of the pass gets you seven days of skiing at each ski area. Other options include:

• : $989, unlimited access to Park City and Snowbasin
• : $649 buys you a one-day ticket at each of the 15 Utah resorts
• : $509 for two days of skiing at Alta Ski and Snowbird, plus 50 percent off each additional ticket
• : For only $45, fifth-graders can ski or ride three times at each of Utah鈥檚 15 resorts; sixth-graders get one day at each

Don鈥檛 miss getting into the backcountry. There are lots听of听reasons why, including听guaranteed powder turns even weeks after a storm, zero crowds, amazing views, and terrain options that you probably can鈥檛 find at most ski areas, such as couloirs and powder pillows. In Utah, there are several ways to get into the backcountry. will take you ski touring throughout Little and Big Cottonwood Canyons. And its staff听doesn鈥檛听just guide but also provides instruction, like how to most efficiently skin uphill and how to best tackle the deep snow on north-facing slopes. Lots of that terrain is mellow enough that even intermediates can handle it. For more advanced skiers looking for long ascents and gnarly descents, UMA guides tour clients to the 40-degree pitches, bowls, and chutes in the Lone and Twin Peaks Wilderness areas ($219听per person for a group of four). No backcountry experience is needed, but those looking to head out on their own next time can enroll听in one of the company鈥檚 .

If touring isn鈥檛 your thing, you can fly or ride into the backcountry.听, a heli-ski operation based out of Snowbird and Park City, has access to 170,000 acres of terrain鈥攅verything from gently rolling slopes to steep tree-filled lines. You鈥檒l get breakfast and lunch, six to ten runs, and ski thousands of vertical feet ($1,600 per day). , with 43,000 acres to play on, is another option. Cat rides only take between five and ten minutes and gain you access to bowls, chutes, and, should you be so inclined, cliff drops. After six hours of fast laps, you鈥檒l be ready for a hot tub and a beer ($629听per day).

How to Get There

There are arguably no ski areas in the country easier to get to than those in Utah. Ten of the state鈥檚 15 ski areas are located within an hour鈥檚 drive听from Salt Lake City International听Airport (in addition,听Eagle Point, Brian Head, Cherry Peak, and Beaver Mountain are two to 3.5 hours away), which sees around 700 incoming and departing daily nonstop flights from almost 100 destinations.

When I lived in New York City, I would get in the car on a Friday night and, due to traffic, it would take me six hours to drive to the听closest ski area in New England. I soon figured out that a nonstop flight from New York to Salt Lake City took just a hair over five hours, and, after landing, I was at the ski area in about an hour. After skiing all weekend, I could hop on a red-eye, pop a melatonin, and be back at my desk in the city just after 9 A.M. on Monday morning. And rather than chattering on New England ice for two days, I was choking on powder.

What鈥檚听the Best Time of Year to Ski Utah?

The season usually begins in mid-November and runs until late April. Other than the short shoulder seasons, Utah is constantly packed with people. But since the state gets consistent snowfall throughout the season, finding fresh powder is less of an issue than dealing with crowds. The best-kept secret is that some of the biggest storms hit Utah in late spring.

My second-best powder day ever was on April 15, 2015, at Alta.听It snowed around听two feet, and, because crowds are much lighter in the spring, I skied deep, untouched powder from bell to bell, never waiting in a lift line.听Added bonus: several Utah ski areas host , many of which can last weeks or up to an entire month. These apr猫s-ski bashes include live bands, pond skimming, and makeshift outdoor bars.

Hit These Ski Areas

For the Powder Hound: Alta Ski Area/Snowbird

Combined, the two ski areas just southeast of Salt Lake City have nearly 6,000 vertical feet of the best in-bounds terrain in Utah. With the proper pass (see above), you鈥檙e allowed to ski between them, ticking off classic lines like High Rustler at听听(day tickets from $60)听and Tiger Tail at听听(day tickets from $50).

Where to Stay

Snowbird has five options, including the sprawling 500-room 听(from $160) and听听(from $100), which has 35听rooms right in the pedestrian village. Alta has five historic inns that are all independently owned,听located at the base of听the听Wasatch mountains, and similar in price, but they vary in offerings.听Its oldest structure, the 58-room听听(from $329), got a swanky upgrade last year. Eighteen months听of renovations yielded , an on-site game room with a pool, arcade games, and karaoke;听guest rooms with sliding barn doors听and leather furniture;听and a new spa, where you can request the High Altitude Recovery, a combination massage and stretching session that can work out the kinks from a long day on the slopes.

The Terrain

It鈥檚 not all gnar. Beginners practice their skills on low-angle terrain at Snowbird in the Baby Thunder Family Area, and intermediates hit the groomed trails off the Collins lift at Alta. Experts, though,听will truly find their听groove here. Ski steep glades and chutes off Alta鈥檚听Supreme chairlift, then head through the Keyhole, a connector between Alta and Snowbird that features open faces and drops. At Snowbird, head to the Gad 2 chairlift and ski Tiger Tail, a 40-degree pitch that funnels into steep glades. If you have top-notch听backcountry skills, head across the canyon and skin up Superior, a two-to-three-hour climb with a big payoff: couloirs and deep snow.

Signature Trail

Though it鈥檚 not often open and requires boot-packing, a trek up to Alta鈥檚听听is well worth the hourlong climb. The 40-degree steeps and narrow chutes will test everything you鈥檝e got.

The Town

Alta and Snowbird are ski areas. There is no town per se. That said, the base-area hotels have decent dining, and there are shuttles between the ski areas that can transport you to them. The best restaurant is probably , inside the at Snowbird. It serves everything from grilled salmon to gourmet shepherd鈥檚 pie with elk meat.

The听Bottom Line

There鈥檚 not a lot going on in Little Cottonwood Canyon other than skiing鈥攚hich is fine. Alta and Snowbird are where you go if you want to ski hard and don鈥檛 care much about the apr猫s or nightlife scene. If that is a priority, go to Park City (see below).

For the Family: Park City

Located just 35 minutes from the Salt Lake City airport,听听(day tickets from $108) is spread over 7,300 acres, making it the largest ski area in the United States. Since it鈥檚 situated right in the town of Park City, which is flush with restaurants, bars, and shopping, it鈥檚 also the Utah ski resort with the most to do when you鈥檙e not skiing.

Where to Stay

There鈥檚 no shortage of options in the area, from pricey ski-in, ski-out hotels to pet-friendly vacation homes. For those听who听want the former, the听听(from $750), which opened in June, has 700-square-foot rooms and two-story, two-bedroom suites, plus听nordic skiing, snowshoeing, and, in the summer, fly-fishing. For something more affordable, 鈥檚 property-management portfolio has more than 150 lodging options within the听Park City area, ranging from one-bedroom condos to full homes (from around听$200).

The Terrain

Much of the terrain at Park City is family friendly. Last year听the ski area introduced High Meadow Park, a new learning area for beginners that鈥檚 about halfway up the mountain and can be accessed via the Red Pine Gondola. The wide-open, gently graded slope is always well-groomed. Intermediates will love the听cruisers off the King Con lift听but should also venture over to Iron Mountain, which has some of the best low-angle tree skiing in the state. Experts with the gear and know-how will want to do the ten-minute hike up Ninety-Nine 90 and drop out of the backcountry gate from there. The run down Upper East Face from the top of the mountain is worth it: it鈥檚 a leg burner that鈥檚 steep and often full of moguls.

Signature Trail

King鈥檚 Crown is often overlooked, because it鈥檚 a pretty easy groomer. But what makes it special are the views: panoramic glimpses of the Wasatch mountains and the town of Park City as you arc down the slope.

The Town听

With so many dining options, it鈥檚 tough to go wrong in Park City, but here鈥檚 how I would approach the day: Fuel up on the soft scrambled eggs at Harvest before heading to the mountain. After skiing, grab a cocktail at the , an award-winning whiskey distillery that鈥檚 right in town, then cruise Main Street, checking in on everything from high-end cowboy boots at to the latest ski gear from the apparel company听. For dinner head to and try the chicken-fried rabbit. Then finish things off by drinking and dancing at the . Of course, the kids will want to check out Park City鈥檚 newest addition, , an indoor skate park that will open in December with 70-foot jumps and a 22-foot halfpipe.

The Bottom Line

Serious skiers won鈥檛 be blown away by the terrain at Park City, but there鈥檚 probably no better ski area in Utah for a family vacation, someplace where your kids can have fun on the slopes and you can all enjoy the good food and drink.

For the Solitude Seeker: Powder Mountain

Though (day tickets from $95) has gotten some decent press over the years, it still feels like a hidden gem. You won鈥檛 find massive crowds here, even on powder days, and the听lodges are total throwbacks鈥攔un-down buildings with tiny kitchens that still serve greasy burgers and pizza.

Where to Stay

There鈥檚 no hotel at Powder Mountain, but there are plenty of condos. One-to-four-bedroom condos can be rented from 听(from $95), which also gets you access to the community pool and Jacuzzi.

The Terrain

Spanning 8,464 acres, Powder Mountain it has more skiiable terrain than听any other resort听in the country.听Beginners should start the day at the Sundown area and slowly make their way to the Hidden Lake area. Along the way, you鈥檒l tick off several blue and green groomed runs, and you might even feel brave enough to try some of the low-angle terrain that鈥檚 just off-piste. Intermediates should head straight听to the Paradise lift and ski the open bowl directly off the top of it. Experts should also head to Paradise, but at the top, follow the lift down to the ridgeline and drop into the steeper shots on either side. Then invest in a couple $25听single-ride snowcat tickets. The cat will drive you to the base of James Peak. Hike the peak (it will take about 30 minutes), then ski all the way back to the Paradise lift鈥攁 2,500-foot descent with听open bowls, trees, and drops.

Signature Trail

Woody鈥檚 World has it all:听steeps, trees, and open shots that all funnel back onto the ski area鈥檚 access road. From there, follow the singletrack down the road to catch the bus back to the mountain.

The Town

Powder Mountain is working on building a village near the top of the ski area, but it won鈥檛 be complete for several years. Until then听there are the nearby towns of Eden, 15 minutes south, and Huntsville, ten minutes farther鈥攁nd you鈥檒l be shocked by how tiny they are. One must-hit spot is the in Huntsville. It was established in 1879, there鈥檚 a stuffed Saint听Bernard on the wall, hundreds of dollar bills stapled to the ceiling, and they serve the best burgers you鈥檝e ever had (but no fries; don鈥檛 even ask).

The Bottom Line

For the most part, you鈥檙e not going to find the sustained steeps like at Snowbird and Alta听or the fine dining and nightlife that Park City has. But you also won鈥檛 see crazy crowds, and you might still get听powder skiing days after a storm.

The post The Ultimate Guide to Skiing Utah appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

On Thursday, Ecuadorian-Swiss alpinist Karl Egloff climbed up and back down Denali鈥攁t 20,310 feet, the highest peak in North America鈥攊n 11 hours and 44 minutes. In doing so, he broke the previous speed record, which was set in 2014 by Spanish alpinist Kilian Jornet, by just a single minute. 听

Even more impressive is this: Egloff, who left basecamp at 7 A.M., topped out on Denali in seven hours and 40 minutes鈥攖wo hours and five minutes faster than Jornet summited five years ago. What鈥檚 more, Jornet skied down Denali, a much faster mode of descent than what Egloff employed to get down the mountain, which was a combination of hiking boots, snowshoes, and running shoes. 听

鈥淚t felt like I was running on water,鈥� Egloff, 38, told me when I reached him by phone on Friday. He had just made it out of and was resting in the outpost town of Talkeetna, Alaska. 鈥淔rom Camp I to Camp III [6,400 feet of climbing], I used crampons attached to running shoes but it was still very slippery.鈥�

From there, Egloff switched to boots and put on a heavy down jacket to help shield him from the nearly 20-mile-per-hour winds. Upon summiting, he looked at his watch and says he was surprised by his time. 鈥淚 was thinking, 鈥業 have a huge gap鈥�,鈥� he says. 鈥淚t was hard to believe I was more than two hours faster than Kilian.鈥�

Still, Egloff knew it鈥檇 be difficult to beat the record. He鈥檇 developed a headache and was well aware that his ski-less descent would be slower. 鈥淏ut when I got back down to Camp III, I knew I could do it,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 started pushing myself. From Camp III on, I was watching the watch more than my own safety. I drank two litres of water on the way up but nothing on the way down. I was just going. I got to basecamp, saw that I was a minute faster, and I stretched my hands in the air.鈥�

This isn鈥檛 the first time the little-known Egloff has knocked off one of Jornet鈥檚 records. In 2012, Jornet began the Summits of My Life project, in which he鈥檇 attempt to set fastest known times on what he calls seven of 鈥渢he most important mountains on the planet,鈥� which includes Denali, Argentina鈥檚 Aconcagua, the Matterhorn (Switzerland鈥檚 famous pyramidal peak), Mount Kilimanjaro, France鈥檚 Mont Blanc, Russia鈥檚 Mount Elbrus, and Mount Everest. He was successful during all of his record-setting attempts except for his climbs up Elbrus and Everest. On Elbrus, he was forced to turn around. On Everest, his time was several hours off the record set in 1996 by Italian Hans Kammerlander.

But in 2014, Egloff, who works as a mountain guide, decided he鈥檇 try to set speed records on each of the seven summits鈥攖he highest peak on each continent. That year, he bested Jornet鈥檚 time on Kilimanjaro. Seven months later, he eclipsed Jornet鈥檚 time on Aconcagua. In 2017, Egloff set the speed record on Elbrus.

Though Jornet fans tore into Egloff, accusing him of cheating and 鈥渄estroying Kilian鈥檚 world,鈥� Egloff and Jornet have developed a friendship. 鈥淥ur sport is a gentleman鈥檚 sport,鈥� says Egloff. 鈥淗e鈥檚 the biggest sky runner in the world and I wouldn鈥檛 be here if it wasn鈥檛 for him. Killian took this sport to another level and nobody would know who I am if it wasn鈥檛 for Kilian. He motivates me.鈥�

On Friday, Jornet congratulated his friend on Twitter.

Next up for Egloff is Indonesia鈥檚 Puncak Jaya, the highest peak on the Australian continent. He hopes to tick that off next year. After that, he鈥檒l climb Mount Vinson in Antarctica. And in two or three years, he鈥檒l attempt to set the speed record on Everest. 鈥淚鈥檒l need to go up and down in less than 22 hours,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 hope I can do it.鈥�

The post Karl Egloff Just Beat Kilian Jornet’s Denali Record appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

In 1999, I moved to Vail, Colorado, to do some ski bumming. One day, I slid up beside my friend Reid Phillips, who was a coach for the local race program. As we chatted, a lanky young girl blasted through the slalom course, arcing turns and slapping plastic with the skill of a much older racer.

鈥淪he rips,鈥� I said to Phillips. 鈥淲ho is she?鈥�

鈥淭hat鈥檚 Lindsey Kildow,鈥� said Phillips. 鈥淎nd, yeah, she does.鈥�

The three of us got on the lift together and I looked at Kildow, who was 14, and said, 鈥淵ou鈥檙e really good.鈥� She shyly sat there, her head lowered as she stared down at her dangling skis, and听answered, 鈥淭hanks.鈥�

A year later Kildow was named to the U.S. Ski Team. She gained muscle mass and pretty quickly began scoring points on the World Cup circuit. By the time she won the overall World Cup title in 2008, she鈥檇 married and was on her way to becoming a household name: Lindsey Vonn.

Vonn became known for her ultra-aggressive, somewhat insane approach to racing. 鈥淚鈥檓 slightly crazy and I don鈥檛 get scared,鈥� she once told me. 鈥淚鈥檓 willing to risk everything.鈥� That attitude garnered her three Olympic medals, seven World Championship medals, and another three overall titles. But it also caused spectacular crashes that often put her in hospitals, on bed rest, and forced her to miss huge chunks of the racing season. 听听

The next time I sat down with Vonn it was two years ago in her home in Vail, not far from the chairlift where we鈥檇 had our first 鈥渃onversation.鈥� She鈥檇 . Numerous devastating injuries,听one of which prevented her from racing in the 2014 Olympics, a听divorce, and a very public breakup from golfer Tiger Woods. That day, she听confidently looked me in the eye and told me her plan. At that point, she鈥檇 won 76 World Cup races, 11 short of the record held by Swedish racer Ingemar Stenmark. 鈥淚 want to break that record,鈥� she said. Later, I watched as Vonn grunted and swore through painful-looking exercises, all of which were specifically designed to try to fortify her busted joints and give her a shot at听reaching her goals.

But it wasn鈥檛 enough. When Vonn, now 34, announced her retirement Friday, she鈥檇 won 82 World Cup races, five short of Stenmark鈥檚 record. In the end, it was the injuries that prevented her from attaining her goals. 鈥淥ver the past few years I have had more injuries and surgeries than I care to admit,鈥� she says in . 鈥淢y body is broken beyond repair and it isn't letting me have the final season I dreamed of. My body is screaming at me to STOP and it鈥檚 time for me to listen鈥� Honestly, retiring isn鈥檛 what upsets me. Retiring without reaching my goal is what will stay with me forever.鈥�

Though that may haunt Vonn, it won鈥檛 tarnish her legacy. She leaves the sport with the most World Cup wins by a woman.听And she was one of the few ski racers to win in five events on the World Cup: downhill, super-G, giant slalom, slalom, and combined. She has听made more people care about ski racing and part of that is due to her celebrity. It鈥檚 fairly safe to say that no ski racer has ever been as famous as Vonn, and her walks down the red carpet at major events like the Oscars, photo spreads in magazines like Sports Illustrated and Vogue, and high鈥損rofile relationships, helped bring more fans to an otherwise niche sport. Vonn was also a committed ambassador who often made time to visit with kids鈥攅specially young girls鈥攁nd share her experiences. Many, no doubt, walked away dreaming they鈥檇 become the next Lindsey Vonn.

But it was her athletics that drew the most eyeballs. Throughout her career, people tuned in to watch her crush the competition by seconds (eons in ski racing).听People also watched to see if they might witness a dramatic Vonn crash, like the one in the super-G at the 2013 World Championships in Schladming, Austria.听In that race, Vonn , flew over the handlebars, and tore her ACL and MCL.

Her heroics were also noteworthy. Before the 2010 Olympics in Vancouver, she injured her shin and publicly stated that she might not be able to race. She hobbled around for several days, then won the downhill race.

According to Bode Miller, considered the best American male skier to ever live, Vonn鈥檚 proven her greatness despite not catching Stenmark. 鈥淪he has a lot of check marks that put her at the very, very top,鈥澨齅iller told in January.听鈥淪tenmark lived in a different era, it wasn鈥檛 the modern era and he never had to deal with the things Lindsey had to deal with throughout her career.鈥�

Vonn will race twice more before ending her career. On February 5, she鈥檒l ski the super-G at the Alpine World Championships in Are, Sweden. On February 10, she鈥檒l push through the start gate for a final time in the World Championship downhill.听

In her Facebook post Friday, she wrote: 鈥淚 always say, 鈥楴ever give up!鈥� So to all the kids out there, to my fans who have sent me messages of encouragement to keep going鈥� I need to tell you that I鈥檓 not giving up! I鈥檓 just starting a new chapter.鈥�

Vonn is likely to pour as much energy into whatever comes next (she鈥檚 hinted at an acting career) as she did her ski racing career. 鈥淭here鈥檚 one gear for me and that鈥檚 going 100 percent,鈥� she told me when we spoke two years ago. 鈥淭hat will never change.鈥� 听听听

The post It’s Official. Lindsey Vonn Announces Her Retirement. appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Casey Brown is standing on a steep desert slope听in southwestern Utah, just outside Zion National Park, staring down at a man-made, 20-foot-high dirt jump that she intends to hit on her mountain bike.

Brown, a New Zealand native who now lives in Revelstoke, British Columbia, will descend 200 yards at around 40 miles per hour, soar some 50 feet through the air, and then鈥攕he hopes鈥攕afely land on a modestly pitched runout. Brown has launched from hundreds of similar jumps, often on her way to victories at competitions, where riders are judged on how well they can make their bikes perform like stunt planes. But this one is making her nervous. The wind is gusting hard enough to knock an airborne rider off-kilter. If that happens, Brown will probably slam into the desert鈥檚 sandstone surface.

鈥淭his is sketchy,鈥� she says. The breeze sweeps plumes of dust off the surrounding ocher mesas. 鈥淚f the wind doesn鈥檛 die down, it could be bad.鈥�

A big part of mountain biking, especially the high-flying brand that Brown practices, is crashing, and the 27-year-old knows the consequences of a jump gone wrong. Her five-foot-three-inch body, scarred and partially held together with metal rods and pins, is an illustrated guide to what can happen when humans plummet from three stories up and smack against the earth. At the end of March, while riding in New Zealand, Brown jumped 12 feet off a mound of grass and came up short on the landing, slamming her chest into the handlebars and tomahawking for 30 feet. The results: a cracked bike frame, nerve damage in her left shoulder, and such bad bruising to her left lung that she coughed up blood for two days.

It鈥檚 now the middle of May, and Brown is still hampered by lingering pain. Nevertheless, she was determined to come to the tiny town of Virgin, Utah, for what she calls exposure therapy, on terrain that, riders will tell you, is some of the most dangerous and technically demanding you鈥檒l find anywhere鈥攁 devil鈥檚 playground of 50-degree knife-edge spines, 60-foot cliff drops, and gap jumps over 70-foot-deep ravines.

Such obstacles feature prominently in the , an invitation-only competition, held in October, in which 21 of the best riders in the world air into backflips and off-axis spins and otherwise tempt disaster while barreling down a seemingly unrideable, 700-vertical-foot mountain. It鈥檚 the sport鈥檚 biggest event, and Brown wants in. A few weeks from now she鈥檒l petition contest organizers, hoping to become the first woman invited to ride in the Rampage. They鈥檒l make their decision in early August.

But first the jump, which looms before her on the event鈥檚 original course, just a mile from the new one.

鈥淚s it still windy down there?鈥� Brown shouts to a group standing beside the jump. She鈥檚 brought along Garett Buehler, a close friend who has competed in the Rampage four times; her boyfriend, Marty Schaffer; and her dog, Snuff, a black Lab mix who鈥檚 almost always at her side.

鈥淚t鈥檚 better,鈥� Schaffer replies. 鈥淵ou鈥檙e probably OK to go.鈥�

Brown buckles the strap on her full-face helmet and lowers her goggles. She angles her gray Trek toward the jump, her blond ponytail swishing as she speeds down the slope. As Brown launches from the lip, she floats so high and far that she overshoots the touchdown zone and lands on a flatter section. She hits hard鈥攈er bike shocks completely compress鈥攕lides off the saddle, and slams her backside onto her rear tire.

鈥淥uch!鈥� she yells.

Speckled with red clay, Brown cringes as she walks her bike back toward the jump.

鈥淵eah, Casey!鈥� Buehler shouts.

鈥淎re you OK?鈥� Schaffer asks.

鈥淵eah,鈥� says Brown, shaking her right hand. 鈥淚 wrenched my wrist a little.鈥�

She looks at where she landed and lets out a chuckle. 鈥淚鈥檓 fine.鈥� Then she pushes her bike up the hill to do it again.

Watching the Red Bull Rampage, which is streamed online, can be a nauseating experience. One minute you鈥檙e witnessing a rider land a double backflip; the next he鈥檚 writhing on the ground, a pile of busted bones.

Since the Rampage began in 2001, several athletes have been airlifted out after suffering serious injuries. In 2015, Paul Basagoitia, a rider from Reno, Nevada, was paralyzed from the waist down after going off a ten-foot cliff and crashing. In 2013, two riders broke their femurs.

The acrobatics displayed at the Rampage are among the most impressive spectacles in all of sports, but the bodily harm that can result is enough to make you wonder why anybody thought it was wise to subject mountain bikers to such gnarly terrain.

Todd Barber, one of the event鈥檚 founders, says the idea came to him in 2000, when he was watching a ski-cross competition in Lake Tahoe. 鈥淚 thought, Why isn鈥檛 there a competition that showcases what guys can do on bikes?鈥�

On hand with Barber was Paul Crandell, who at the time was the director of events for Red Bull. He pitched the idea to his bosses. The brass at the energy-drink company, which never misses an opportunity to be part of something involving human projectiles, got on board right away.

The first Rampage was held in 2001 in Virgin, which was chosen, Barber says, 鈥渂ecause it has everything, the ridges and drops and vertical. It reminded me of what guys were skiing in Alaska.鈥�

To select the slate of participants, a committee of five spends months poring over competition results and footage, trying to determine which of the world鈥檚 riders are worthy. Applicants must prove that they have the ability to handle steep, loose, technical terrain and are daring enough to take on enormous jumps and cliffs. During their runs, bikers are judged on fluidity, style, amplitude, and line choice.

鈥淧eople look at it and say,鈥夆�業 can ride that,鈥欌�夆�� says Kurt Sorge, a rider from Nelson, British Columbia, who鈥檚 won the event three times, including last year. 鈥淏ut you have to be fast and fluid and throw in the tricks. And you gotta deal with the wind and the heat. There鈥檚 a lot that goes into it. It鈥檚 one of the toughest challenges out there.鈥�

The winner pockets $8,000. More important, a good showing at the Rampage can lead to big sponsorship deals.

According to Barber, a female biker with the goods to descend the length of the course while pulling off tricks like the Superman鈥攊n which riders take their feet off the pedals and fly through the air while holding the handlebars鈥攈as never emerged.

Brown acknowledges that what separates her from some of the best male riders is the shortage of tricks in her repertoire. But she鈥檚 working on several, aiming to have them ready by October.

鈥淚鈥檝e had other women want to compete,鈥� Barber says. 鈥淏ut there are a lot of guys out there to choose from. It鈥檚 hard to say we鈥檒l give Casey a shot when there have been so many guys knocking on the door for years. I鈥檓 not opposed to it. But it鈥檚 gonna be tough. The Rampage is not a proving ground.鈥�

Over the past year, Brown has made a strong case that she deserves a chance. Last September, I joined a full house at Walk Festival Hall in Teton Village, Wyoming, for the premiere of Teton Gravity Research鈥檚 . The crowd, mostly dressed in flannel and brimming with anticipation, had come for the usual adventure porn: skiers and snowboarders descending steep faces in deep powder, flinging themselves off massive cliffs. With each colossal launch, the pack yipped and hollered. But it wasn鈥檛 until about halfway through the hour-long film that they completely lost it.

That鈥檚 when Casey Brown and Cam McCaul, a pro from Bend, Oregon, appeared on the screen, riding their bikes off a 20-foot cliff into snow-filled , the legendary Jackson Hole ski run. The icy pitch rendered brakes useless; Brown hurtled for 300 feet at around 60 miles per hour. With that, people leaped to their feet, shouting and throwing their hands in the air.

After the movie, the talk was all about the mountain-bike segment, both because the stunt was novel (mountain bikers had never appeared in a TGR ski film before) and insane (nobody had ever been crazy enough to ride a bike off Corbet鈥檚). And by the way, several asked: Who was that girl?

Besides her Crankworx victories, Brown, who began competing in 2008, has spent several years posting impressive results on the World Cup downhill tour and in Enduro World Series races. Among serious riders, she鈥檚 noted for her in-flight style and hang time, which seems to last seconds longer than her peers鈥�. 鈥淭he thing that impresses me is that she鈥檚 so confident,鈥� says McCaul. 鈥淪he can take on any terrain, and she makes it look good. Such stylish riding isn鈥檛 something we鈥檝e seen from women before.鈥�

But until that moment inside the theater, most people outside the world of mountain biking had never heard of her. The TGR segment, which was later and quickly went viral, with 730,000 views, boosted Brown鈥檚 celebrity. A month later, Red Bull proposed doing a short film about her. She鈥檚 also been asked to shoot a commercial for Coors Light.

Brown, who鈥檚 soft-spoken and demure, shies away from much of the attention. 鈥淚 like to live a little more humbly,鈥� she says. 听鈥淟ooking forward and focusing on the future are more important than looking back at what you鈥檝e done.鈥�

In Revelstoke, she鈥檚 able to find sanctuary from the limelight. When she鈥檚 home, which is usually only five months of the year, she spends her time working on her bikes, hanging out with her family, or, in the winter, skiing and snowmobiling with friends. And she devotes a large chunk of time to her artwork, a passion since childhood.

The tiny basement apartment that she shares with Schaffer is a gallery for her work, including a painting of Snuff, as well as pottery she made at a nearby studio. 听Even her bike helmet is painted with a sketch she did of a coyote biting a snake. In some native cultures, she says, 鈥渢he coyote is the trickster. I feel like I鈥檓 the coyote and I鈥檓 biting my fears.鈥�

She鈥檚 a good artist, which prompts me to ask why she didn鈥檛 choose that as a career, since art is less likely to put you in the hospital. 鈥淎rtists starve to death,鈥� she says, then thinks about it. 鈥淲ell, mountain bikers starve to death, too.鈥�

Brown is hardly starving. Her income this year, earned mainly through endorsements with , Dakine, and Trek, will reach six figures. She and Schaffer are house shopping鈥攚ith one stipulation. 鈥淭here needs to be enough land to build jumps,鈥� says Brown. It鈥檚 a remarkable success story when you consider that when most children were learning to ride a bike, Brown was swinging from vines in a jungle.

One afternoon in Virgin, Brown changes out of her Dakine riding kit and into a tank top and cutoffs. She says the shorts are similar to what her father, Lou, wears around Revelstoke鈥攎uch to the embarrassment of his children.

Airstream has loaned her a rolling bedroom for a week鈥攁 thank-you for jumping her bike 40 feet over a trailer for an advertisement鈥攁nd we鈥檝e taken lawn chairs from it and plopped them in the middle of the shallow Virgin River, where we鈥檙e soaking our feet.

I ask Brown if she鈥檚 seen the movie Captain Fantastic, noting that the story line鈥攁bout a father who raises his children off the grid鈥攕ounds like her childhood.

鈥淟ots of people say that,鈥� says Brown. 鈥淭here are a lot of similarities.鈥�

Only days after Brown was born in a Queenstown hospital in 1990, she joined her parents, Lou and Liz, along with three older sisters and a brother, in Barn Bay, on the west coast of the South Island, miles from the nearest town. Lou had moved there with his previous wife in 1975, to work as a fisherman.

鈥淚t was a remote and challenging place to fish,鈥� says Lou, a slight man in his sixties who, like his daughter, seems drawn to adventure. In 1983, after his second marriage ended, he convinced Liz to join him.

Lou built a house from wood he had scrounged in the jungle. The family foraged for and grew their own food and used a windmill Lou had devised to generate their own power. Twice a year, they would trek eight hours to the closest town for supplies. 鈥淎s soon as you could walk, you walked there and back,鈥� says Brown. 鈥淚 was probably two.鈥�

Lou, who owned a boat, spent days on the Tasman Sea catching rock lobster, which he鈥檇 ship out on planes that landed on a runway he鈥檇 made. Meanwhile, the children mostly played. That included building forts and 鈥渟winging from the trees like monkeys,鈥� says Jennifer, the second-oldest. Elinor, the second youngest, recalls a long-distance hiker dying near the family鈥檚 home. After the body had been recovered and bagged, the children watched while Elinor poked it with a stick. 鈥淲e didn鈥檛 really have values or a belief system at that time,鈥� Jennifer says. 鈥淲e were pretty wild.鈥�

In 1996, after Lou had several close calls at sea, the family moved to a 426-acre farm in a town called Clyde, where they lived in a tepee and attempted to grow vegetables. The crops failed, which took a toll on Lou and Liz鈥檚 already strained marriage. They divorced that year, and Lou hit rewind and left for Canada, where he鈥檇 grown up, with Jennifer and Sam, his only son.

Liz stayed on the farm with Casey, Elinor, and Jasmine, her daughter from her first marriage. In 1999, a fire started when a tree fell on a power line. Liz and Casey were at home and rushed to open the gates for the horse and their flock of sheep. By the time they made it to the car to flee, the blaze had reached the driveway, and the two narrowly escaped by driving across the pasture and through the fence. The farm destroyed, the family moved to Hawea, a small lakeside town, where they survived on welfare.

In British Columbia, Sam had begun mountain biking and proved to be an 颅

鈥淗e was an amazing rider, but he was also creative and innovative,鈥� says Darren Berrecloth, from Parksville, B.C., who appeared alongside Sam in several films. 鈥淗e had great style and flow, and would pick different lines down the mountain, lines that other people couldn鈥檛 see.鈥�

Casey revered her brother from afar. Then, in 2002, hopeful for a better life, Casey and Elinor left for Canada to live with their father.
听

In Revelstoke, an old logging town 350 miles northeast of Vancouver, Lou had taken on several jobs, including one as a metalworker. When Casey joined him, he built his daughter a bike out of spare parts, a clunker with different-size wheels that Brown used to chase her brother and his friends around.

鈥淪he was just like Sam鈥攁 total natural from the time she was 12,鈥� says Joel Pirnke, a Revelstoke native who grew up riding with Casey and Sam. 鈥淪he was aggressive, but with a really calm, relaxed style. As she got older, she was passing the boys.鈥�

Brown began harboring dreams of becoming a professional biker. Sam, however, became disillusioned with the sport鈥檚 bloated egos, gave up, and in 2005 found work as a logger. To get in and out of the woods, he traveled by helicopter; he took pilot lessons in hopes of someday earning his license.

Some time later, Sam befriended , with a bald head and a stocky build. Martin offered Sam a job, one that would appeal to his sense of adventure and earn him serious money. Sam said yes and went into outlaw mode.

Eventually, Casey became aware that Sam was smuggling drugs into the United States. She confronted him about it one day while they were riding around in his truck.

鈥淚 don鈥檛 want you to do this,鈥� Casey said. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 want you to die.鈥�

鈥淒on鈥檛 worry,鈥� he said confidently. 鈥淚鈥檓 not going to.鈥�

Sam ran pot and ecstasy over the border by snowmobile and, later, by helicopter, though he never got a license to fly. In February 2009, into Washington, landing in a meadow inside Colville National Forest. The DEA was waiting and arrested him.

Four days later, the Brown family was called to Elinor鈥檚 house. When Casey walked in, a police officer standing in the doorway bluntly delivered the news: 鈥淵our brother killed himself.鈥� Brown sank to her knees.

Sam didn鈥檛 leave a note, and speculation swirled about why he鈥檇 take his own life. To Brown, it didn鈥檛 matter. Her best friend was dead, and she spent several months in mourning. Then she turned all her attention to riding. 鈥淏iking was the thing he loved and the thing we shared,鈥� says Brown. 鈥淚f I could do one thing that made him proud, that was it. I decided to work toward becoming a free-ride mountain biker.鈥�

On my last day in Virgin, Brown and her entourage drive about four miles through the desert down a rutted road. They eventually reach the base of the current Rampage course, where the event has been held since 2012. The wind is up again.

鈥淲hat do you think, Casey?鈥� asks Buehler.

鈥淧erfect day for sailing,鈥� she says.

A day earlier, we鈥檇 driven here in less breezy conditions; Brown had sessioned some of the course鈥檚 lower cliff drops and jumps, easily sending a 50-foot bluff over and over again. Then, as the sun began to set, she hit a small jump and landed funny, causing her to endo over her bike and face-plant in the dirt. A silly mistake, she鈥檇 called it, but one that cracked the visor on her helmet and left her with a headache. A few hours later, when I asked how she felt, she said she鈥檇 mostly recovered.

鈥淛ust a little hucker鈥檚 neck.鈥�

Huh?

鈥淵ou know, Huckingson鈥檚 disease,鈥� she said. 鈥淲hiplash.鈥�

鈥淐an you ride?鈥� I asked.

鈥淥h yeah,鈥� she said. 鈥淵ou鈥檙e always recovering from something in this sport.鈥�

鈥淧art of what makes Casey so good is that she鈥檚 so tough,鈥� Buehler interjected. 鈥淪he鈥檚 resilient. She can bounce back from anything, so she keeps progressing鈥攕he鈥檚 not spending a lot of time off her bike.鈥�

Brown, Schaffer, and Buehler assess the wind and decide to wait a bit. Instead of riding, we鈥檒l hike to the top of the course and check out some of the bigger features on the upper section.

As we climb, the pitch gets steeper and the loose sand and rock starts to crumble below our feet. On one stretch, I find myself on all fours, grasping for a solid handhold and realizing that if I fall, I鈥檒l tumble 100 yards over an outcropping of boulders. I find myself wondering why Brown wants to ride her bike down this.

鈥淭here鈥檚 a quote I like,鈥� Brown says. 鈥溾�夆�楾he best things in life are on the other side of fear.鈥� I鈥檓 pretty sure Will Smith said it. The Rampage is a really good measure of your abilities. It tests everything. I want to be pushing the sport, and this is the next step for me.鈥�

Many people seem to agree. Often, when women try to break through in a male-dominated sport, they鈥檙e met with online harassment. Brown has received nothing but support. In mid-May, she posted Instagram photos of herself riding on the Rampage site. The comments, many of which are from men, include 鈥淐asey is serious competition for the men鈥� and 鈥淢aybe we鈥檒l see you at the Rampage?!鈥�

One of her supporters is none other than Kurt Sorge. 鈥淐asey has progressed so much in the past ten years, and she鈥檚 proven herself,鈥� he says. 鈥淪he could carve a pretty sick line down that course.鈥�

When we reach the top of the run, Brown shows me how she makes certain features less scary. We stare down a 12-foot drop onto a five-foot-wide spine with a 200-foot free fall on either side. Brown calls it the Sidewalk of Death.

鈥淚 just erase everything except what I need to ride,鈥� she says, waving her arms as though she鈥檚 wiping the potentially lethal parts from existence. 鈥淲hen you do that, it鈥檚 really not that bad. Just a 12-foot drop.鈥�

By the time we make our way back to the bottom, it鈥檚 about eight in the evening, and the wind has died down. I ask Brown what she鈥檒l do if the Rampage committee decides to leave her off the list.

鈥淚鈥檒l work harder,鈥� she says firmly. 鈥淎nd I鈥檒l try again.鈥�

With that, Brown puts on her helmet and pulls up her kneepads. Then, as the sun fades, she pushes her bike back up the mountain.

Editor's Note: This story originally appeared in the September issue of听国产吃瓜黑料,听which hit newsstands the first week of August. Later that month, invitations were made to riders to compete in the 2018 Red Bull Rampage.听Brown听did not receive an invitation, but, as she said in the story, she'll continue to work hard and hopes to receive an invitation to compete in the event next year.听

Correspondent Gordy Megroz () wrote about Wylder Goods in July 2017.

Photographs by听Jos茅 Mandojana.

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