The Squamish Move

Photos: Margus Riga

We’re quite not sure what is needed to venture off into the heart of grizzly territory to find the biggest and boldest mountain bike line, dig for days on end, build a thirty-foot landing ramp, ride down this line on your bike, and bring your wife and your best friends to watch. Oh, and all this in a zone where there is not a single bar of cell service. Most of us will never know… except for Steve Vanderhoek. Steve set himself up for this crazy idea couple weeks ago, just before fall rolled in after hearing about a wildfire burn zone filled with immense slabs and out-of-this-world potential for building a true big bike feature.

Known for his big and exposed lines in the Sea-2-Sky corridor, Steve is probably the most calculated rider we know. So, taking up a challenge like this one, with him behind the project’s steering wheel, we knew it was going to be handled like a true pro with every safety precaution properly integrated into the mission’s game plan.

Two and a half hours away from North Vancouver, deep into Squamish’s backcountry, not even near mountain bike trails, Steve found this massive, almost surrealistic rock formation that could potentially welcome another monstrous creation of his own.

I love big, exposed rock lines and I love big drops! It’s been my dream to find a line that blended those two together! I had been feeling fairly uninspired for building over the last couple years until I went to Utah earlier this year. The scale of terrain and the local scene just fully relit the fire within. A friend of mine had tipped me off to a location that involved a big burn zone filled with enormous slabs that could only be described as a PNW Rampage zone. The only downside was that it was 2.5 hours away from home, deep in the back country with grizzlies and no cell service. I finally found the time to make the trek out with my dirt bike and when I stumbled upon it, I started screaming alone with excitement. I had finally found what I was looking for! 

Chu’s your Adventure

Earlier this summer, Steve and the North Vancouver riding community lost one of their friends in a tragic mountain bike accident. Andrew Chu was a big believer of the local riding scene and the community on the Shore. In memory of his buddy Chu, Steve named the zone: Chu’s your Adventure.

I named the zone in memory of my good friend Andrew Chu. There are more lines than I could possibly build, and I want to support all my friends in creating their own dream line. Chu believed in community, and this is my highest respects I can pay to him.

He immediately began constructing what he considered the gnarliest feature he could find. It involved a technical exposed entrance—steep, off-camber, and filled with holes—that led into a 30-foot drop at the end. Realizing it was too much to tackle alone, he enlisted the help of a large group of friends. Over the next 12 days, they built a 26-foot landing from red and yellow cedar milled on-site, completed stone and concrete work to make certain sections of the rock rideable, and moved a mountain’s worth of dirt and stumps to create a smooth run-out.

'' As the feature nears completion the reality starts to set in that you need to ride this monster you created. Knowing myself I would obsess and fixate over every detail and delay the inevitable. I texted the group and said, book it in the calendar, I’m hitting this thing on Thursday. On the day prior I have my process I always follow. I’ll go up alone and spend as much time as I need ironing out any issues, sometimes staring at it for hours without even doing anything. I filled a few holes that were distracting me with rock and epoxy, wire wheeled, and tiger torched the rock dry for maximum grip, packed the landing that was still a little soft and extended the line an extra 50 feet up so I could get comfy on the bike before dropping in. At the end of the day, I visualized riding the feature and only saw success. I left that day feeling 100% confident and ready to rip this thing with my wife and all my pals the next day! For the first time in my life, I actually had a great sleep the night before a big move. ''  - Steve

Steve Vanderhoek and his wife Kelsey love filming and creating together, always striving for the perfect shot and being particularly picky about lighting. They left home at 6:30 a.m. to arrive on site by 9 a.m. with the rest of the crew.

When I first went to the site, the base of the structure was already built and I could tell this is the most “Steve friendly” feature I’ve seen. A huge steep rock slab into a massive drop. On the day of filming I was a healthy amount of nervous but also very grateful Steve had put so many precautions in place for if anything didn’t go 100% right.

Given Steve’s work as a firefighter, he places a strong emphasis on safety and preparedness, despite the inherent risks of the feature. They had multiple GPS inReach devices, notified the local SAR organization of their plans and location, and had a few of Steve's coworkers on-site with full medical kits, including an AED, fracture and pain management supplies, and spinal immobilization equipment. While it's tough to think in those terms—since the goal is to focus on success—Steve knows that in the backcountry, where there’s no service, prioritizing safety is crucial.

Given with all this planning and preparedness I was quiet and nervous the whole drive up. I couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt and selfishness for putting people through this stress when I couldn’t guarantee anything. My parents were not happy and scared for me, I had put Kelsey through so much over the past couple years and she has filmed my biggest crashes. I promised them all I would only be pushing that wheel over the edge if I was 100% confident. I was prepared to walk away if I didn’t feel it, or the conditions didn’t line up. 

D DAY

When Steve and the crew arrived at the location, his heart sank. The fog was so thick that visibility was limited to just 50 feet, and everything was wet. The plan was for the filmmakers and photographers to find their angles while Steve prepped the line and his bike. Instead, no one could see a thing. Doubt crept in as he questioned whether this was the right day for such a risky attempt, especially knowing a helicopter wouldn’t be able to fly in for a rescue if needed. Despite the uncertainty, he decided to push forward, hoping for the best, and got to work torching the rock to dry it out.

He made his first roll down the wooden ramp, finding the dirt soft but manageable. From there, he moved up to the super-exposed, off-camber entrance he had built, which led into a flat zone where he could stop if necessary. His friend, Alex Jordache, roped up at the cliff's edge, ready to grab him in case things went wrong. To this day, Steve considers that entrance the hardest section of mountain biking he has ever done. It required a precise off-camber nose pick, followed by an unavoidable rear-wheel slide into a tiny catch pocket just inches before launching off the edge. After coming to a stop, the crew exchanged looks, fully aware that Steve had pushed right to the limit of control.

We made the call to make a quick adjustment to widen a small section my tire slipped over. Minutes later as I was torching it dry everyone started yelling that the fog was lifting, and blue sky and sunspots were poking through…CHAOS! I went from chill to knowing I was about to hit this full line for the first time in the next few minutes. It was funny looking down from over a hundred feet up seeing the film crew running around realizing the shot they had guessed was going to be good was actually not what they wanted when they could finally see. I pushed my bike up to the top and could feel my heart pounding in my chest and hands were shaking. Focusing on my breathing I brought everything back to calm and collected. I closed my eyes and saw myself stomping the line, I wanted nothing more than to have the feeling of one of the biggest drops of my life off the gnarliest rock line.

When I opened my eyes, the drones were in the air, and I heard Kelsey yell she was ready. I didn’t hesitate and dropped in. Everything felt so perfect. The tires gripped and when I dropped that wheel over the edge there was zero fear, and I could see it all working out. I can’t even explain the feeling of the tires touching down as you rip out to celebrate with your wife and closest friends. Not going to lie...I had some tears in the eyes. Building and riding something you created is the best! The first descent is the feeling I’m always chasing. You can’t ask anyone for speed tips, and you really don’t know if it’s going to work, you have to just trust your skills and experience. - Steve Vanderhoek

After the 4th hit I said no more, you’re done. I had had enough stress for one day haha. The day couldn’t have gone better, the lighting, the crew and the shots all amazing. We had beers and burgers and all went home feeling very accomplished and fired up to show everyone else the videos and photos we got.

Luckily for Steve, the line was gnarly but also incredibly fun to ride he said. He gave the film crew three more runs to capture all their angles before feeling completely crushed from hiking his bike back up. The rest of the day was spent chilling in the sun, enjoying burgers on the BBQ, cold ones, and sharing stories and laughs with his closest friends.

Steve couldn't have asked for a more perfect day and really, he was buzzing to continue developing something special.

Ride in peace, Chu

The biking community is incredible! Thanks for tuning in.

Eager to dive deeper into the project? We've got an exclusive audio interview with Steve that spills the behind-the-scenes details and insights you won't want to miss. Click below to hear directly from the man himself and uncover the story that brought this creation to life!