Whistler Turns Up the Summer Heat

Whistler, Red Bull, summer, road trips, Red Bull Joyride, The Squamish Lil’wat Cultural Centre

A bike-lover’s paradise, Whistler offers a wide variety of riding for all levels and tastes which includes an extensive network of cross-country trails and the No. 1 mountain bike park in the world. (Photo courtesy of Tourism Whistler/Mike Crane)

The only thing that changes faster than the weather in the mountains, is life.

The first time I travelled to Whistler was in the bumper seat of an old station wagon on the single-lane, rock-littered Sea-to-Sky Highway, nearly three decades before the 2010 Winter Olympics. I was 11 years-old watching the Paradise Valley and Cloud Burst and Black Tusk rolling by in reverse. When we finally hit town, I looked up toward the moonlit range harbouring Harmony and Symphony and it was love at first sight. What could possibly be up there? After making every trip I could following that, I moved to Whistler right out of high school to find out for sure.

I lived on baked potatoes and rye, couch surfing. and cliff jumping. I was nothing more than an awkward teenager in the ’90s, shaking to a mix of house music and Nirvana in a discounted one-piece neon ski suit. When people ask me where I went to school, I still answer “the University of Whistler.” And even then it was obvious that this pristine outdoor playground couldn’t possibly stay contained for long. But nobody could have fully predicted the scale of changes coming.

Whistler was once a crossroads for the Squamish and Lil’wat people. For time immemorial, the Coast Salish have been the land’s curators and kin, etching stories across Tooshkum, Stl’lhalemc, Tseḵiḵáp, and Ḵ’elhmásem. But Whistler’s lines of today were drawn by those lured to logging and mining and who carved out a small community near Alta Lake. Tourists eventually trickled in for fishing and hunting, but the rugged rural infrastructure kept things quiet. For a while, at least. In the 1960s came Garibaldi’s designation as a provincial park and the popularity of skiing and snowboarding started an assent that would pave the way for lift lines that now regularly stretch to the multi-lane highway. In between, came a few dirtbags like me.

The Squamish Lil’wat Cultural Centre (SLCC) is the first facility of its kind in Canada, located on the shared, traditional territories of the Squamish Nation and Lil’wat Nation. (Photo Courtesy Tourism Whistler/Justa Jeskova)

Following a full winter manning the doomed Quicksilver quad, I took a job at the legendary nightclub Tommy Africa’s (now Apres Apres) as an 18 year-old, underaged doorman. In short order, a willowy blonde with Cuervo tequila bottles holstered low on each side and shooter glasses strapped across her chest like ammo, approached me to ask where I lived. I stammered through several voice cracks and to my surprise she inquired about my interest in renting a house with her and a few of her coterie in Creekside. It was the start of a life-long friendship, and what might just have been the summer of my life.

Although much of its reputation was built on the back of the Winter Olympics, the fact is Whistler has always been just as much, if not more magical in the summer. From backflips off the culverts of Rainbow Creek to late-night nudity at Lost Lake, slow picnics hidden in the wildflowers at Brandywine Meadows, and raves generated under the stars at Function Junction, we really had the run of the place. There was very little then in the way of summer tourism. But the warmer months in Whistler are now just as busy as the winters, including playing host to elite sporting competitions and delivering one of the best downhill mountain biking experiences in Canada. And Whistler’s reputation as the planet’s greatest four-season resort has snowballed to unassailable, including among elite athletes. It houses some of the world’s most advanced sporting facilities, and by extension some of the earth’s most talented sportsmen and women, including many Olympians. From hockey to giant slalom, boarder cross to biathlon, athletes from around the world now frequent the resort municipality to train. And when the 2024 Summer Olympics start in Paris on July 26, athletes with ties to Whistler will also be represented in sports ranging from golf to mountain biking. But in the ’90s the only one crazy enough to stick around and run with the locals was Olympic downhill skier Rob Boyd, who hosted some seriously outstanding parties.

Crankworx crazies check in on a rider after a dramatic fall from one the elaborate Joyride course features. (Miguel Strother photo for Vacay.ca)

Shortly after that fateful night-club encounter, I moved into a green A-frame; a shooter girl (turned grocery store owner), a hostess, a go-go dancer and me, in what I would eventually learn was the first Whistler Mountain staff accommodation. My favourite neighbour was a bear that walked through the yard on its way to the trash bin at the Southside Deli. Had I not been so young and dumb and full of the self-loathing and insecurity that I would eventually turn into a profession, I’d have seen this arrangement as basically like winning the lottery.

The A-frame is still somehow standing in the same spot today, albeit an anachronism encapsulated by a massive network of quarter share vacation condos, T-shirt shops and multimillion-dollar mansions. And Whistler is full to the brim with visitors all summer. There are tour buses of people that stream into Rainbow Park and day drinking dance parties on every patio.

When I eventually left Whistler I struggled mightily to find my place in the world. I bumbled around city life, dazed and confused, wandering through the strip clubs and sulphur haze of the suburbs before I found the woman who grounded me. We went to school, got an entirely different degree, and travelled the world before moving back to Vancouver. And eventually I landed a gig as a ski writer, which brought me back to Whistler on countless occasions for a front-row seat to the metamorphosis that was the 2010 Olympics. And when my wife, Ineke, an elementary school teacher with a smile that spans from high cheekbone to high cheekbone and a laugh that could replace angel song on the way into heaven, had a massive stroke, we too learned a thing or two about change.

“In an instant, Ineke, who’d spent her entire professional life helping kids with autism learn to speak, lost her voice and movement on her right side. However, much more slowly and brutally, through the struggles of recovery and adaptation to life with Aphasia and paralysis, the stroke seemed to be stealing something even more important: Her joy. Whistler, however, had a thing or two to say about that.”

Planning a summer trip back to Whistler to celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary, almost exactly 30 years to the day since I’d last lived there, I didn’t even think about mountain biking. In fact, it was a legitimate coincidence that we arrived the same day as Red Bull Joyride, arguably the biggest day for mountain biking on the planet. What we found was more than a crowd of 50,000 mountain maniacs; more than Emil Johansson doing double downside whips or Thomas Lemoine launching 80-foot gap jumps. What we found was the true spirit of the place I’d left 30 years earlier dramatically changed but still in full effect, and without a doubt, even better than the one I remember from my fitful youth. If you can believe it, there was basically no such thing as mountain biking on Whistler in the ’90s.

Being part and participant in the crazed festival atmosphere of Joyride, with our teenaged son and daughter fully revelling in mountain life, like I once had, confirmed just how committed the resort is to providing a good time for everybody. We have trouble moving through even small crowds. But because of that commitment, strengthened by the Olympics, we got to not only watch, but fully and completely participate in the party.

Vacay.ca writer Miguel Strother and his wife, Ineke, take a breather at Green Lake while riding an adaptive bike called “the Caboose” on their 20th wedding anniversary. (Miguel Strother photo for Vacay.ca)

It was 30 Celsius degrees (86 Fahrenheit) with people dressed (and undressed) in all sequence of summer glory; a full-on rave developing in broad daylight at the Longhorn behind us. In front, swarms of cheers spilling from the dusty masses and down the mountain, chasing the riders toward the finish line; kids stacked up, screaming and pressing over the barriers for high fives from their heroes who waved their arms for more. And after hours of death-defying, full-gasp biking beauty, the party culminating in a celebration of the best of the best on a stage beside us, all framed by rainbows of Champagne and the fading mountain sun.

Yes, Whistler has changed. Its magic is among the world’s worst-kept secrets. But it is still absolutely magic.

Playing at Whistler Golf Club later that week I had to do a double take as a big black bear lumbered from the thick brush and stalked straight across the green. With each wobbly step he brought me back further in time, to when I first played on this course. Back then, this was the club of the working crowd. You could still rent a room for $300 a month, enjoy buck-a-beer night at the Boot Pub, and play the old whack fuck for a reasonable toll. And some of the members figured out that, while a fine test of golf, the course was as much fun, probably even more, on moonlit summer nights. I got the idea of following the fairways from start to finish on a full moon, over a plate of fries and gravy with a fun guy and longtime local at the late night eatery Pete’s Underground. The next month I was soaring through the round of my life, the milky way running across the fairways between Overlord and Rainbow, our foursome filled with epiphones.

I can’t imagine what might happen if you tried to sneak onto Whistler Golf Course at night now. But with the high tech security on this exceptionally beautiful and sophisticated course, I’m sure it wouldn’t end well.

Famous for being the first Canadian design of golfing legend Arnold Palmer, Whistler Golf Club is known for spectacular snow-capped mountain views and the occasional bear sighting. (Photo courtesy of Tourism Whistler/Mike Crane)

A couple of days later, we decided that we would try to get out early for a bike ride of our own, on our specialized ride called the Caboose. We drove a little closer to Rainbow Lake for our starting point and somehow ended up parked at the Catholic church. While I got the bike set up, Ineke went in to use the bathroom and came out 15 minutes later crying. Apparently, it was mass and she’d entered at a pivotal point, like she was walking through the set of a Coen Brothers film.

We rode around the trail network with ease, flowing past the golf course, and the silted grey-green lakes, tilting our heads toward the Fitzsimmons Glacier, Diavolo Peak and Overlord Mountain. The warm air, the smell of the wildflowers and pine, the slow flow of endorphins and the sense of freedom a seemingly perfect convergence. At least until I noticed something wrong with Ineke’s pedals.

We had a mechanical malfunction. After several failed attempts to fix it, I pedalled for both of us back to the church parking lot, more than a little worried that would be the end of it for the week. Ours is not an everyday bike. I wasn’t confident that we’d find what we needed in one of the many high-volume bike shops.

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So, just outside the church, I asked a passerby if by chance he happened to live in Whistler. In a place which sees so many visitors each year, locals are not always easy to find. But bingo! This fella was and pointed us to Coastal Culture Sports in Creekside, huddled perfectly, just across from the old green A-Frame I once lived in. And sure enough, we found exactly what I left, and exactly what we needed.

Coastal Culture Sports is a soulful small-town bike shop in a big mountain resort. When I outlined our issues, the staff went right to the owner, who came immediately to our aid. His eyes lit up when he saw our setup. He asked inquisitively about the Caboose, before setting to work. Within minutes he had diagnosed the problem and began fastening a quickly engineered solution.

All in all, what I thought might throw off our whole week, was solved in less than an hour. And when I asked him how much he just laughed, saying something about the things that keep owning a bike shop interesting.

From there we rode all week together, our teenagers hot on the trail, hooting and hollering support for their mom as we rolled around Rainbow and Lost Lake parks. We lapped past the Whistler Blackcomb base, stopping for ice cream or pizza, surrounded by armoured bikers walking to and from the gondola, dusty with sweat or reverberating with anticipation.

But it didn’t just feel like we were observers of Crankworx and the energy of this amazing place. It genuinely felt like we were a part of it, representing as many dreams and ambitions as those carried by the bikers roaring down the mountain; almost everywhere we went, no matter how complex the downhill beasts wheeling around us, we would hear people commenting on the Caboose. “Cool set up”; “Nice rig”; “Keep pedalling.” And a very Whistler, “Right on!”

Yes, change can come quickly. But accepting and embracing that change, charging forward with reverence and joy, which is and always has been such an important part of Whistler’s ethos, is what the good life is all about.