Most people had arrived to Vancouver early as Wednesday night or Thursday morning for the Vans Triple Crown at Mt. Seymour; I fortunately was not one of those people. Instead of standing around in the fog, I was stuck in that god-awful phenomenon know as “The Seize Up.” Shem and I had been trying since Tuesday to leave Bend, Oregon and make it to at least Seattle, a location we finally made it to late Wednesday evening.
Once in Seattle I dropped Shem off at his “special lady friend’s” home, then proceeded to meet up with Chris Owen at the Mervin factory. After story time with Mike Olsen, Chris and I dropped of some film for Shem. It was too late to keep driving so we decided so stay in Seattle, wake up early, get Shem’s slides, a flash system for Owen and off we were to go. I finally ditched everyone at two o’clock Thursday afternoon. Luckily the weather was still atrocious at Seymour and none of the contest took place. I hadn’t blown it just yet.
On my solace drive I had a vision. I hadn’t ridden in four days, and according to reports a certain resort out side of Bellingham was amazing. I turned right, knowing full well the consequences of my decision. But hey, it turned out for the best. I spent Friday riding with Temple Cummins whilst everyone Mt. Seymour sat in a fog. While they were having meetings over whether or not to try to have the Boardercross, Temple and I were figuring out how “involved” we would get.
I had rolled the dice and won, but the game wasn’t over. Temple and I figured it would be crowded and stormy at Baker on Saturday, so we left Friday night for Vancouver. Over diner, event boss Dawn Williams caught me up to speed, I hadn’t missed a thing except for Steve Van Doren’s amazing hotdog snatch.
Saturday morning you couldn’t see the mountains outside Vancouver, so Temp and I watched The Crossing on A&E, then headed up around noon. The mountain was socked in again. Vans, making the best of a bad day held a hotdog eating contest. We missed that one, but were in time to see a hundred guys sessioning a twenty-foot ladder turned on its side. We were losing it. Our pal Bryce Knights talked us into a taking a run. It was fun, but not enough to want to take another. A quick bite to eat, talk of someone backflipping over the “rail” during the “sess” and landing on John Speers, cracking his camera, and cutting his face, some more high fives, some calls on the cell phones, and we were out of there. Temp called the Baker snow-phone on the way out. Clear with two feet of fresh. Sweet as mate.
After the panic out at three the sky cleared slightly and they ran the halfpipe event. Greg Goulet qualified first in the men’s with a run he took at 10:00 p.m. When Ross Powers finally won it was about 1:30 a.m. I was asleep in Glacier at that time. We woke up Sunday to a long line of cars passing outside our hotel room. Baker was going to be a zoo with bad weather, so with our heads hung low, we just packed up and headed back to Gig Harbor. When we stopped for gas and coffee I put in a call to the contest, it was crappy again and the contest was called off. I guess misery really does loves company, but at least I didn’t get in to much trouble for not “completely” covering the event.