Sunday morning dawns and things get very real all of a sudden. In an effort to avoid the blustery winds that tend to come up in the middle of the afternoon, the schedule was compressed and riders would be taking their second runs as soon as first runs had been completed. Weeks of work were coming down to a few short hours and the level of apprehension was palpable. No sooner had breakfast been eaten there were calls over the PA for riders to make their way to the top of the hill. As the thousands of spectators jostled for position, many of them trampling lines in the process, the riders sneaked past on their way to the impossibly high ridgeline. Still a quietness hung in the air, along with the dust. The low whine of a turbofan engine firing up is the first hint that things are kicking off, and as the heli takes to the air the silence is shattered. Suddenly the empty hillside with a few scattered souls of the last week is transformed into an event venue. 2000 fans, probably more media and hundreds of industry hangers–on line the course. TV cameras are everywhere, and incredibly serious looking film crews sprint around the hill while seasoned photographers like Sterling Lorence and John Gibson take a more measured approach. Music booms from the mobile Red Bull DJ booth and the metamorphosis is complete.

Dust hangs in the air, disturbed by the constant stream of quads and dune buggies ferrying equipment and injured riders to vantage points high on the hill. Then it all begins and the true madness of what you are viewing sets in. Young Trek rider Brett Rheeder is first man off and a barspin attempt on the first drop does not go to plan. A silence descends immediately as it looks as if he has fallen to his death from the back of the ridge. With the helicopter behind the ridge as well, there is nothing to break the silence until he pops up, clearly unharmed to a huge cheer and proceeds to pin the rest of his line. Rider after rider throw themselves down the hill, some having clean runs and others making mistakes, but after every crash they somehow seem to get up, dust themselves off and continue. People seem to be able to walk away from crashes that appear life or career ending at first, and the crowd relaxes from the earlier tension. All eyes are on Brandon Semenuk as he rolls out of the start gate, and a seemingly flawless run on the top half of the course is ruined by a small mistake on an easy jump. The pressure has clearly been getting to Brandon this season, with Crankworx not working out and now this. A second run offers a second chance for the man from Whistler, but it is not to be, and he hits the deck again. With all the insanity going on, it is easy to forget that riders are actually competing, with a panel of judges analysing their every move. And herein lies the biggest issue with this type of event. Your line might be creative, it might be difficult and you might have ridden it perfectly, but unless the judges agree, you are shit out of luck. Style is clearly a completely subjective thing, and to attempt to judge it and assign it a score is no easy task, and as such the judges are pretty much always wrong, as long as you ask enough people. Luckily there was one thing that everyone agreed on, and that was Kurt Sorge. His dominant display in his first run was a clear standout performance, and was enough to win him the competition in its own right, but that didn’t stop him going up and bettering it straight away. While there were complaints at the event about every place from second to last, which admittedly paled in comparison to the internet chatter, no–one could argue that Sorge was a deserving winner. And suddenly it was over. Everyone had survived. Some were on crutches, but they were still walking. And so the most insane spectacle in the mountain bike world had finished for another year. Where next? Apparently Mongolia and South America are on the list of potential venues, bring it on!