The Red Bulletin US 11 & 12/22

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FINDING GAPS

At Backcountry, we gear you up to get outside. From epic, big mountain lines to the local laps on familiar trails, we have everything you need for your next mountain bike ride. Get in touch with our team of Gearheads who live, sleep, and breathe the two-wheeled lifestyle and love helping you gear up, to get out there.

Connect with a Gearhead: Call 1-800-409-4502 or chat with us online www.backcountry.com

Rider: Backcountry ambassador Brooklyn Bell

Photographer: Re Wikstrom

EDITOR’S NOTE MOVING STORIES

This extra-large issue is anchored by features that highlight extraordinary individuals who transform physical movement into mesmerizing art. With the Red Bull BC One World Final looming in New York, we profile the U.S. entrant in that contest, Victor Montalvo, an elite B-Boy whose backstory in dance precedes his birth. And we also dig into the life’s work of two New York dance icons, Kwikstep and Rokafella, who have dedicated themselves to the past, present and future of breaking.

CONTRIBUTORS THIS ISSUE

LAUREL GOLIO

The Brooklyn-based photographer shot champion B-Boy Victor Montalvo in a studio and on the streets of Chinatown in lower Manhattan. “Victor brought a really lovely energy to set,” she says. “He was down for anything and was super collaborative—really a dream to work with.” Golio has shot for The New York Times, The Atlantic and brands like Nike, H+M and Puma. Page 52

But the spirit of ethereal movement isn’t just the domain of dancers. We have a deep dive on Brandon Semenuk, the best and most artful mountain biker of all time (going for a fifth Red Bull Rampage title this year). And we also profile Jiro Platt, a 16-year-old street skater who turns the streets of New York into a visually arresting launchpad. When you see athletes and artists this gifted take flight, it’s impossible not to be moved yourself.

ISABELIA HERRERA

“I’ve heard the story of hip-hop recounted so many times—in books, magazines, documentaries, you name it,” says the New York–based writer and editor, who profiled OG breakers Kwikstep and Rokafella. “But to hear about its evolution from Rok and Kwik, who were actually witnessing and living it as it matured in New York in the ’80s, was a real joy.” Herrera’s work has been published by The New York Times, GQ and Pitchfork Page 64

Kevin Arnold snaps pictures of Brandon Semenuk in an outbuilding on the rider’s property that’s decorated with dozens of bikes ridden at Rampage and other events.

TOBY COWLEY (COVER BRANDON SEMENUK), LAUREL GOLIO (COVER VICTOR MONTALVO), ATHENA TORRI, ELENA MUDD

FREE AS A BIRD Brandon Semenuk displays his signature style and seemingly effortless grace in the backyard of his British Columbia home.

FEATURES

30 Portrait of an Artist

Step inside the creative, deliberate and private mind of the world’s best freeride mountain biker, Brandon Semenuk. Plus: Other top riders to watch at this year’s Rampage, the course deconstructed and more.

52 Descendant of the Break

Victor Montalvo is one of the best competitive breakers in the world, but his B-Boy origin story precedes his very birth.

64 Power Couple

As breaking reaches new global heights, dancers Kwikstep and Rokafella are on a mission to preserve its cultural roots.

74 Expert Eye

Decorated B-Boy and photographer Frankie Perez shares some of his most evocative images taken over the years.

86 Youth Movement

At just 16 years old, Jiro Platt, a rising star in the New York skate scene, is poised to take off.

90 Fever Pitch

Mel D. Cole is renowned for photographing hip-hop royalty and social protest, but here he shares his love of soccer.

THE DEPARTURE

Taking You to New Heights

11 Annemiek van Vleuten on her Tour de France win

15 Surfing back in time on a 1930s-style board

17 Sky skiing in France

19 Artful skating in Los Angeles

21 Icy tales: Hip-hop jewelry

23 Singer-bassist Oliver Sim shares his top tracks

GUIDE

Get it. Do it. See it.

101 Travel: Journey through the hip-hop origins of NYC

104 Dates for your calendar

106 The best new MTB gear

110 Anatomy of Gear

112 The Red Bulletin worldwide

114 Parkour in southern Italy

OWN THE ELEMENTS

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WHAT IT’S LIKE TO WIN THE TOUR DE FRANCE

Annemiek van Vleuten won the 2022 Tour de France Femmes avec Zwift in dramatic fashion. Here, in her own words, the Dutch rider recounts exactly how that historic triumph unfolded.

As told to PETER FLAX

Atop the Planche des Belles Filles, Van Vleuten savors her overall win in the Tour de France Femmes avec Zwift.

Iwas a little skeptical at first about the Tour de France. People in the media tend to focus on one thing and make that overimportant. But once the event started, I got more enthusiastic. The organization was good from the start. I was surprised that the women were not a sideshow anymore. I realized that they didn’t organize this Tour de France because they thought they had to; they organized it because they wanted to.

I was excited to see the entire route, especially when I looked at Stage 7. That looked brutal. And brutal is really good for me.

In stage racing it’s always about conserving energy. It’s not my favorite thing to do because I like to race with my heart. It’s hard to be patient.

This year I got some help because I got sick. I had no choice but to try to limit the time loss. I started feeling sick a few hours after the first stage

ended. I ate some watermelon after the finish—maybe it was not OK? I skipped dinner, went to the doctor and then in the night it got bad. Going to the toilet was the only thing I could do.

I woke up and heard people were excited about the amount of wind, and I was completely not excited. It was a flat stage, and normally in a flat stage you can hide in the pack and survive if you’re sick. I got nervous that I wouldn’t have the power to ride in echelons. But my team protected me so well that my nose was not in the wind for one second.

During Stage 3, I had to stop on the side of the road because I had to shit. And my teammates waited for me and brought me back. Today, the whole story of that teamwork seems really beautiful. At the time, it was not so beautiful.

I was happy with the amount of time I lost. It could have been worse. I could have lost the race. I was also

smiling because I didn’t talk to journalists those days. Because if other teams knew, especially on that windy stage, they would have raced from the gun. I was smart to play some poker.

On Stage 4—the gravel day—I was happy because I started to feel like I could follow the girls again. I didn’t feel super strong. I didn’t have energy to attack myself, but they could not drop me anymore. I was back in business.

Stage 7 was flat for 40 kilometers and then three big climbs. After I did some recon of the route, I had it in my mind that I should attack on the first climb. With the sickness in the back of my head, I was not sure it was a smart plan. But I decided I should just have confidence and go for it.

After I attacked, I was super concerned that Demi [Vollering, who would finish second overall] was still with me because I knew after the second climb there was a long flat part where she would just stay on my wheel. I really wanted to get rid of her before then. So every time there was a steep ramp I tried to attack. I started to think I cannot drop her. It takes mental strength to keep on trying, to believe in yourself. Finally, on the last ramp, I dropped her.

I did back it off on the last climb. I knew the last day was coming. I tried to enjoy the moment. In stage races you are always thinking about the next day. And that can take away some of the beauty of winning that day. I got goosebumps crossing the finish line; there were so many people watching.

That night I arrived at the hotel at like 10, so there was not time to make plans or celebrate. I had dinner and went to bed. Although I did see the yellow bike they were building up.

There was plenty of agony and ecstasy for Van Vleuten at the conclusion of Stage 8, where she clinched the overall title.

Normally if you go all out one day you wake up feeling like a truck rode over you. But the next morning, after five or six hours of sleep, my legs felt fine. I knew it was up to the other teams to attack me.

I had one shit moment on Stage 8. I had a flat tire and had to switch to a bike of one of my teammates—and it was way too small. And at that moment, the other teams started to ride hard. I’ve learned to accept the things you cannot change and focus on the things you have under your control. I had the help of my teammates and I always try not to get negative about situations like that. I was just focused on getting to the group before they started the climb [of the famously hard La Super Planche des Belles Filles].

I’ve seen footage where I ride my teammate’s bike out of the saddle as I come back to the front. Before then, I was just thinking about winning the Tour, but it gave me some extra fire in my belly. I decided I wanted to win the stage.

I attacked from the bottom. That’s usually my best chance, to make it longer and harder. Everyone was focused on the steep bit at the top, but that came at the end of a 20-minute effort after eight days of hard racing. That 20 minutes was hard. If you want to win, you always have pain.

The finale was too tough to celebrate. But I won in the yellow jersey on the last stage. And then, after I crossed the finish line, I had to go down this gravel road to go to the podium. And there were so many people—my family, my boyfriend, a mechanic from a team I used to be on. That’s when my party started.

The win doesn’t change my life. I’m too down to earth for that. Just like a gold medal in Tokyo didn’t change me. But I have to say that now if I’m out riding, everyone knows my name.

“STAGE 7 LOOKED BRUTAL. BRUTAL IS REALLY GOOD FOR ME.”

“The win doesn’t change my life,” says Van Vleuten. “I’m too down to earth for that.”

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SURFING BACK

IN TIME

A California surfer taps into his sport’s roots by crafting—and riding—superheavy 1930s-style boards.

When Nole Cossart was growing up, his family home in Santa Barbara was full of surf memorabilia: boards in nooks and crannies, photos on walls, rows and rows of books on shelves. No surprise, then, that he became a wave rider himself. But while Santa Barbara is one of the jewels of the California coast, it doesn’t have optimal surfing year-round.

“There are a bunch of point breaks, but they only light up during the winter swell,” says the 33-year-old. “Most of the year, the waves are small and it’s hard to ride a regular surfboard on them.”

Cossart cast his mind back to a ride he once had as a teen on a “kookbox,” a wooden surfboard almost 12 feet long

and so named after the novice surfers—“kooks”—who first started making and riding them in the 1930s. Heavier than a modern polyurethane surfboard, the kookbox has a hollow center and lacks a bottom fin. Though very much a relic of history, the board’s heft in lackluster surf gave Cossart a reason to build one.

According to Cossart, making the board is no more difficult than a final project for a high school woodshop class, and the results are impressive. “It just moves through the water so smoothly,” he says. “It takes some energy to get moving, but then it has all this momentum. You can push through chop easily.”

Lugging a kookbox around doesn’t go unnoticed, though; Cossart says he’s often stopped between his truck and the

water: “I’ve made friends while talking about it on the beach.” But he isn’t trying to start a retro revolution. “I feel a bit worried about safety,” he says. “I always wear a leash [riding a kookbox] because I don’t want it to get washed away and hit someone. It could take them out pretty easily.”

Cossart says he’ll continue to make and ride kookboxes, although the person-hours required to build just one board make mass production economically unviable. Instead, by riding kookboxes, Cossart is tapping directly into surf history. “They’re hard to control,” he says, “but riding one takes you back to feeling like a beginner. Any progress you make is so rewarding. And it’s the same thrill that kookbox riders were enjoying almost 100 years ago. It’s a way to participate in history.”

Mr. Kookbox

Worth the weight: Cossart at work on one of his kookboxes.

JEFF JOHNSON TOM WARD

Clusaz, France

FLOATING

IDEA

When his original idea—to drop from a plane at 21,000 feet, pull off a few free-fall tricks and land on a speedriding slope—proved too complicated, skydiver Fred Fugen had a rethink. Helicopter? No pilot would consent. Hot-air balloon? Hmmm And so, in March of this year, the Sky Skiing project came to fruition high above southeastern France, with lensman Dom Daher on hand to snap Fugen’s plummet from a chairlift. Bonkers but brilliant Watch it at redbull.com

Go far. Stay close.

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Los Angeles

PARADISE GARAGE

“I’ve always been intrigued by architecture hidden within buildings,” says Chris Garrison. So when the Florida-based photographer chanced upon this indoor garage in L.A., he instantly saw the potential in its extended hexagonal lines and the perfect pool of natural light leaking in from above. With BMX Street rider Broc Raiford on board, all the elements were in place for this dramatic image —a finalist in the “Creative by Skylum” category of Red Bull Illume. chrisgarrisonphotography.com; redbullillume.com

CHRIS GARRISON/RED BULL ILLUME DAVYDD CHONG

WHAT ARE YOU BUILDING FOR?

THE ONLY THING MORE REWARDING THAN CHASING YOUR DREAM, IS CATCHING IT.

Today, artists commission unique pieces from jewelers as famous and in-demand as themselves, such as Greg Yuna, Martine Ali and Joe Avianne, but back in the day, rap stars experimented with off-the-shelf purchases. On the cover of his self-titled 1980 album, Kurtis Blow is pictured shirtless, wearing six gold chains. This image, argues Tobak in the book, “introduced a broader audience to the stylings of the street.” It’s one of many milestones she marks in her timeline, which reaches back before hip-hop to Bob Marley and Malcolm X and the rings they wore to show their religious beliefs. “Like diamonds,” Tobak writes, “hip-hop emerged under pressure to create a rarefied thing of pure excellence.”

Hip-hop jewelry

IT’S A BLING THING

Hip-hop’s high-rollers and the precious metals they drape themselves in are the focus of this sterling new book.

Names and slogans on multifinger rings that resemble knuckledusters. Solid-gold ropes thick enough to tow a truck. Diamonds so dazzling they need 24-hour protection. From Run-DMC and LL Cool J to A$AP Rocky and Megan Thee Stallion via Jay-Z and Missy Elliott, rappers and MCs have made their jewels and precious metals a central part of their culture. Now they’re the focus of a new coffee-table book, Ice Cold: A Hip-Hop Jewelry History

Its author, Vikki Tobak, became immersed in the hip-

hop world in the early ’90s— she worked for four years as marketing and PR director for record label Payday—and has written about the music and its makers ever since.

It was while working on her 2018 book, Contact High: A Visual History of Hip-Hop, that Tobak began to think more deeply about the way people adorn themselves. “We all care about how we present ourselves,” she says. “In hiphop, a huge part of that is customization, of clothing and sneakers but also of jewelry. It’s about standing out with something nobody else has.”

All gold everything: Ice Cold is the final word on hip-hop bling.

With hundreds of photos across 388 pages, Ice Cold is an exuberant visual journey. Tobak is the ideal tour guide; her insightful prose sparkles alongside the gems and the grills. Hip-hop heads will enjoy the hall-of-fame roll call of artists, and the evolution of the jewelry itself is fascinating. What’s also clear, from the mid-2000s on, is the increasing presence of women.

“Early on, some women wore rope chains, like Salt-NPepa and Roxanne Shanté,” says Tobak, “but as women’s power and self-direction in the industry grew, with people like Cardi B, Megan [Thee Stallion] and Kash Doll, they made their own decisions and had the money to do so. Now women are on the same playing field as the men. There are more women jewelry designers, and more Black designers, too. This is really important.” Recording that change and more besides, Tobak’s book is 24-carat pop-culture gold. Ice-Cold: A Hip-Hop Jewelry History is out now, published by Taschen; taschen.com

RUN WITH THE PROS

AMSOIL fghts heat, pressure and friction in extreme racing conditions and your daily drive.

All trademarked names and images are the property of their respective owners and may be registered marks in some countries. No affliation or endorsement claim, express or implied, is made by their use.

BRYCE MENZIES / TEAM AMSOIL

Playlist CATHARTIC CONFESSIONS

Singer-bassist Oliver Sim picks four tracks that have infuenced his work with British indie band the xx and now as a solo artist.

At 17, Oliver Sim—singerbassist with the British indie-pop band the xx— was diagnosed with HIV but kept his condition private for much of the past 15 years, driven by feelings of fear and shame. Now, at age 33, he’s finally opening up about his experience on his debut solo album, Hideous Bastard, which he describes as a “joyous” antidote to those earlier emotions. The record was produced by Jamie xx, Sim’s bandmate in the critically acclaimed trio, whose most recent release, 2017’s I See You, topped the U.K. album chart and reached No. 2 in the U.S. Here Sim reveals four tracks that have had an impact on his life and songwriting. Hideous Bastard is out now; Instagram: @hideousbastard

Scan this QR code to hear our Playlist podcast with Oliver Sim on Spotify.

BRONSKI BEAT

“SMALLTOWN BOY” (1984)

“I’ve admired Jimmy Somerville [singer with synth-pop trio Bronski Beat] for such a long time. Not only does he have one of my favorite voices ever, but he’s also been such a fearless, powerful voice for LGBTQ people and those with HIV and AIDS. He makes fantastic music, and this is a perfect example of that: a joyous pop song; fun but very emotional.”

PLACEBO

“NANCY BOY” (1996)

“As a teenager, Stefan Olsdal and Brian Molko [of U.K. rock duo Placebo] were aliens to me. I was like, ‘I have no idea where they have come from, but I love them.’ Brian was feminine and beautiful but making angry music, and that meant so much to me, because he was the first person I saw who was a combination of those things. He was my idol, and this song meant a lot to me.”

ROMY

“LIFETIME” (2020)

“Romy [Madley Croft, the xx’s guitarist-vocalist] has been a friend and sister to me since I was 3 years old. We went to nursery school, primary school, secondary school and college together, and now we have a career together in a band. This was the first song she released on her own, and it really makes me so proud of her. I think she’s a fantastic songwriter.”

NAT KING COLE

“NATURE BOY” (1948)

“Jimmy Somerville introduced me to this beautiful song [covered many times but recorded first by Cole]. It inspired the messaging on my solo album, particularly the track ‘Hideous,’ where Jimmy sings a line from the song to me. The final words of ‘Nature Boy’ are:

‘The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.’ How great is that?”

Foreign-exchange trading felt like a smart bet for Daniel Laplana, who was shot in Miami on September 3.

TRICKS OF THE TRADE

How one globetrotting entrepreneur made foreign-exchange trading fit into his exciting and active lifestyle—thanks to his hard work and a platform called OANDA Trade.

Words PETER FLAX Photography YSANA PEREZ

Daniel Laplana doesn’t like to sit still. The longtime Miami resident loves to travel the world, play sports, explore wilderness hotspots and enjoy all the stellar dining and nightlife that his adopted hometown has to offer. And as much as he likes to play hard, Laplana, 30, also likes to work hard. He runs a highly successful technology venture studio that requires some globetrotting and more than a little bit of high-stakes investment. So perhaps, with such a peripatetic and performance-oriented lifestyle, it shouldn’t be surprising that he’s so keen on foreign-exchange (FX) trading.

This reporter catches up with Laplana in a rare moment of downtime. He’s detailing some of his recent travel— “I just got back from a couple weeks in Turkey and Greece—long enough to really immerse myself in those cultures,” he says. His passport

has been stamped in more than 55 countries. And during the pandemic, he’s made a concerted effort to lean into his love of hiking, lacing up his boots and visiting legendary national parks like Yosemite, Zion and Yellowstone. And the lifelong athlete—Laplana was good enough to play Division 1 soccer at George Washington University—has gotten serious about tennis, playing competitively for the past five years.

Laplana works hard to sustain this action-packed lifestyle. After six years of hard work, he and his brother’s business venture—where they take equity in and then support tech startups with growth potential—has blossomed. “The first years were honestly pretty tough,” he admits. “But now we’ve amassed a portfolio of over 50 companies, probably a portfolio of over a $100 million and about 300 employees across ten different countries.”

Laplana, who makes apps for a living, says the OANDA app lets him track markets and make trades on the move.

Looking to expand and hedge his investments even more, Laplana says he got into FX trading about four years ago. “It seemed like a smart way to diversify my portfolio and my strategy since I’m so heavily invested in private companies and venture capital,” he says. “Obviously the key to success is building a Kevlar shield to protect yourself against downturns like we’ve seen in the past two years. So I decided to diversify a little bit.”

Not the sort of guy to do anything without doing his homework first, Laplana spent time developing and researching and testing out his strategies in the FX market. Some investors in this space have tactics guided by market fundamentals, while others focus on technical variables; Laplana is most certainly in the latter camp. “I have more of a value investing, old-school [Warren] Buffet mentality,” he says, noting how he saw a potential

long-term opportunity in the U.S. dollar strengthening against the Euro and other currencies. “Let’s just say it’s worked out in my favor,” he says without fanfare.

Laplana brought his same rigorous approach to picking a platform for his FX trading and ultimately settled on OANDA. “I did a cost-benefit analysis when I was getting into the space,” he notes. “And OANDA was by far the best platform—the most efficient, with the best customer support and the best spreads.”

Because he’s on the go so often, Laplana is a power user of the OANDA app, which allows him to track the market, dive deep into the data or make trades no matter where he is—whether that’s an airport lounge, a tennis club or a trailhead parking lot. “The core functionalities work really well,” he says. “And I’m saying that as someone who makes apps for a living.”

When asked to explain why he’s attracted to FX trading, Laplana’s answer is a mix of highly calculated economic fundamentals and the emotional appeal of the potential upside. “It’s the largest liquid market there is,” he says. “And no doubt it can be volatile. There’s a thrill with that volatility—more volatility sometimes means larger gains—but higher risks, too.

Still, despite the ups and downs, Laplana is hardly making impulsive bets or risking exposure that he can’t afford. “Basic risk management is what it all boils down to,” he says, before itemizing all the expert sources he seeks counsel from, the price alerts that ping him on his Apple Watch, the news sources he trusts. “I’m serious about being informed and building competencies and mitigating risk. It’s important to stay patient and humble.”

While he relies on the OANDA app when he’s in motion, Laplana likes to make his really big moves when he’s at the office using the full toolkit on his desktop system. “In a market like FX there’s an upside to being hunkered and really paying attention,” he says. “Sometimes every millisecond counts.”

“Basic risk management is what it all boils down to.”

Laplana, who loves to travel and experience other cultures, has recently visited places like Greece, Turkey, Thailand, Zion National Park, Cape Cod and the Dominican Republic.

Given his success in FX, Laplana has a little helpful advice for aspiring investors. “In my world you gotta test the market,” he says, urging newbies to start small, to test and refine their hypotheses, to build strengths and knowledge. But he also acknowledges the need to sometimes overcome the psychological barriers to take the next step. “You always want to be cautious but sometimes you think plunging into the pool is harder than it actually is, and you’re ready to take the deep dive.”

Laplana has the confidence of someone who has taken that dive many times. He understands the risks and how to mitigate them, the importance of diversifying his investment exposures, the upside and excitement that foreignexchange trading can deliver. “I’m careful so I like the risk and the reward,” he says, adding that he thinks his core hypothesis—the confidence that the U.S. dollar will outperform other currencies—still has legs. “That educated bet has been a big win for me.”

As the conversation winds down, Laplana talks a bit about his active interests. How he wants to hike in Glacier National Park, how he had a blast attending the Miami Grand Prix, about how tennis is easier on his joints than soccer even if he goes hard. This is the good life. He wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Opinions are that of the interviewer and interviewee, and not of OANDA Corporation. Interviewee’s experience is not representative of all account holders or traders.

Past performance is not indicative of future results.

For educational purposes only, not to be considered a recommendation or financial advice.

Leveraged trading in foreign currency contracts or other offexchange products on margin carries a high level of risk and may not be suitable for everyone. We advise you to carefully consider whether trading is appropriate for you in light of your personal circumstances. You may lose more than you invest. We recommend that you seek independent financial advice and ensure you fully understand the risks involved before trading. Trading through an online platform carries additional risks.

OANDA Corporation is a registered Futures Commission Merchant and Retail Foreign Exchange Dealer with the Commodity Futures Trading Commission and is a member of the National Futures Association. No: 0325821. More information is available using the NFA Basic resource.

Because he’s on the go so often, Laplana is a power user of the OANDA app.

Laplana takes risk mitigation seriously but also sees an upside to the volatility of FX trading.

PICKING A PLATFORM

Learn why OANDA might be right for you.

If you’re interested in exploring the potential of foreign currency (FX) trading, then OANDA is the platform to look at. Founded in 1996, OANDA was the first company to share exchange rate data free of charge on the Internet, launching an FX trading platform that helped pioneer the development of web-based currency trading five years later. In the past 26 years, the company has evolved from a tech start up to a fully regulated forex broker.

Forex prices can move quickly, especially during volatile market conditions. The OANDA Trade platform enables retail investors to trade 70 currency pairs with reliable speed, transparent pricing and industry-leading client support.

Investors can choose between the fully customizable OANDA Trade web-based and desktop platforms, an app for smartphones and tablets, and an integration with MT4—a popular platform for forex traders globally.

On each of these platforms, traders can access a range of powerful research tools and gain insight for smarter decision making. For example, the customizable app offers more than 50 technical tools and allows traders to set default parameters for pending orders, such as units traded, risk and profitability levels. It also allows them to set up alerts and price signal notifications, as well as enter market orders using simple chart taps.

This level of functionality, paired with low spreads, fast transactions, transparent cost structure and outstanding client focus, helped OANDA be named Most Popular Broker and Best Forex Broker in 2021 at the TradingView Broker Awards. To learn more about the award-winning platform, visit oanda.com.

Leveraged trading is high risk. Losses can exceed deposits.

Brandon Semenuk was photographed near his home on British Columbia’s Sunshine Coast on August 2.

This jaw-dropping tailwhip, shot in the forest on BC’s Sunshine Coast, captures the precision, amplitude and pure poetry of Semenuk’s riding.

PORTRAIT

OF AN ARTIST

Step inside the creative, deliberate and private mind of the world’s best mountain biker.

Words NEAL ROGERS Photography KEVIN ARNOLD

STERLING

POOL

There’s a reason no one has won Red Bull Rampage more than Semenuk.

POOL

Brandon Semenuk is on the phone, answering variations of questions he’s heard before. He’s at his home on the Sunshine Coast of British Columbia, but he’s not sitting still. That’s not really something Semenuk does. As he speaks, he’s piecing together a bike rack.

Here’s the first thing you need to know about Semenuk, the Canadian freeride and slopestyle legend and only four-time winner of Red Bull Rampage: He doesn’t really care whether you read this profile. He’s a reluctant public figure, a naturalborn introvert who happens to have spent his entire adult life in the spotlight.

What Semenuk does care about is progression—in his riding, his videos and lately his rally-car racing, for which he is nationally ranked. If answering questions for this story could help him progress as an athlete or creative, his viewpoint might be different. But it won’t. It’s not personal.

Here’s the next thing you need to know about Semenuk: He’s a magician. He makes the impossible look effortless.

He’s the most decorated athlete at Red Bull Joyride in Whistler, the top event in slopestyle, winning five times between 2011 and 2017; during that span he also won three Freeride Mountain Bike World Tour series titles. His groundbreaking “One Shot” segment from Teton Gravity Research’s unReal collection, filmed in one uninterrupted take on a custom-built track in California, is said to have been viewed more than 60 million times.

Semenuk’s history at Red Bull Rampage, the pinnacle event of freeride mountain biking, held among rugged sandstone cliffs in southern Utah, is without parallel. In 2008, in his first attempt, Semenuk won Rampage at the tender age of 17. In 2021, at age 30, he became its oldest winner, and the only rider to take back-to-back titles. There, riding a single-crown suspension fork, he also became the only rider in Rampage history to tailwhip off a flat drop—an impossibility on a conventional dualcrown suspension. He finished his run

Semenuk’s compound includes an airy outbuilding with ramps and an array of his retired bikes adorning the walls.

with a triumphant backflip tailwhip off the final jump to lock up the title.

And here’s the rub: Semenuk wasn’t at Rampage last year to set any records. He just wanted to try something new. He had a vision and wanted to see if he could fulfill it. “I’m not a numbers person,” he says. “I was just stoked on being able to show up and do something different.”

He may lack the same level of name recognition as other action-sports stars who have redefined what’s possible— athletes like Tony Hawk, Kelly Slater or Shaun White—but Semenuk occupies the equivalent mantle in mountain biking. He is the best there’s ever been; there’s no real debate about it. His riding is completely fluid, yet impeccably precise; there’s a level of grace and technicality that’s unmatched among his peers. Semenuk’s tricks aren’t just death defying—they’re adjective defying.

Bike magazine columnist Mike Ferrentino, who has covered mountain biking for five decades, describes Semenuk’s skill level as “otherworldly,” adding that “you could set it to jazz music, he makes it look so fucking easy.”

When presented with the idea that he is the GOAT, Semenuk characteristically deflects the praise. Why would he embrace it? That won’t help him progress. “I don’t agree with it,” he says. “There’s so many amazing people. It’s not that I haven’t heard that [phrase] used, but I don’t agree with it and I don’t particularly think a lot of people think that.”

And yet his artistry is unrivaled. “For me it’s always been evolving with my riding and just exploring—exploring mountain biking,” Semenuk says. “That’s just part of the idea of making it feel like art. If I’m gonna do it, I’m gonna do it in the best possible way.”

The idea of poetry in motion takes on a different meaning when applied to rally-car racing, which Semenuk has been competing in for more than a decade and excelling in for several years. Rally races

are a series of segments, raced against the clock across twisty gravel roads. Drivers compete on the same closed course, at speeds averaging 120 mph, aided by a navigator in the passenger seat. Piloting a WRX STI for Subaru Motorsports, Semenuk spent the 2022 season in a tight battle with motocross legend Travis Pastrana atop the American Rally Association’s overall standings.

Another thing you should know about Semenuk: He’s a visionary. Along with his innate desire to create comes an innate desire to be in control. He’s involved in every aspect of his highly anticipated videos, from location scouting to course building to arranging food and housing for the crew to the performance itself, as well as video editing, music selection and social media promotion.

Unlike many extreme-sports stars, Semenuk is not flashy. There’s no bling. He’s not covered in tattoos. He doesn’t close down the bars. He doesn’t share his personal life on social. He’s reserved, and because of this, meaningful glimpses into

his world may be gleaned from his friends, sponsors and competitors as much as from the man himself.

Take American freeride legend Cam Zink, another pioneer of the sport, who, at 36, is five years Semenuk’s senior and was one of his early influences. Like Semenuk, Zink has won Rampage and Joyride; they’re friends and competitors. “Brandon is very introverted, quiet and usually unassuming,” Zink says in a text message. “He keeps his personal life and training hidden to let his riding do the talking.”

Zink adds that Semenuk is “the greatest and most captivating” rider of all time.

It’s no accident that there hasn’t been a definitive profile of Semenuk to date. As Zink says, watch the videos—that’s how Semenuk expresses himself. Probe further and those in his inner circle will use terms such as “focused,” “sincere” and “loyal” to describe the enigmatic rider.

“There haven’t been a lot of outlets where I’m like, ‘Yeah, this feels like this is gonna go somewhere and can improve something for me.’ Or be worth someone’s time,” Semenuk says when asked about his aversion to interviews. “If there’s nothing that’s gonna improve the silence, then why talk at all?”

It’s safe to say that Semenuk is not hungry to be understood. He’s not an open book. However, it’s hard to describe someone who has spent so many hours in front of a camera as walled off. Perhaps it’s best to view his true personality as hidden behind a paywall, and the currency required to gain entry is trust.

Semenuk hoists the hardware to celebrate his victory at the 2021 Red Bull Rampage. The title marked his fourth at the legendary event.

For Semenuk, rally racing has evolved from a passion to a serious venture.

There have been two big moves that really altered the trajectory of Semenuk’s career. The first came while he was still a teenager, when he moved from his hometown of Whistler and bought a home on a few acres on the Sunshine Coast, across the Georgia Strait from Vancouver Island. The backyard became a private slopestyle course, complete with ramps, jumps and an air bag. Riding buddies could crash in spare rooms. Training on these jumps, he says, sped up his progression significantly. “It’s kind of a no-brainer; if you have that stuff in front of you, it’s just so much easier to wake up with an idea and then go try it or play with it or build something new,” he says. “It’s my space—I can change things and do what I need to do.”

The second pivotal decision came at age 24, when Semenuk started the video brand Revel Co. with filmmaker Rupert

Walker. That move gave Semenuk creative control over his content, accelerating a transition from pure competition to bringing his riding concepts to realization.

Semenuk explained the thought process behind the move from contests to video during a candid two-hour conversation on the Unclicked podcast with decorated BMX pro Dennis Enarson and co-host Ryan Fudger. The 2021 interview reveals Semenuk at his most relaxed and enthused. Enarson ranks among the action-sports athletes Semenuk most admires. (Semenuk’s BMX skills are considerable, as demonstrated in the 2016 video “Street Sweeper,” shot by Walker over five nights in Barcelona.)

“I was getting kind of burnt on contests,” Semenuk said. “Eventually it was like, ‘I feel like I’ve done it all. I don’t need to try to keep winning the same event.’ If I win, I feel content. If I got

second place, I feel like a failure, because everyone expects me to win. I didn’t want to get stuck just riding contests. I needed to do the projects, get these tricks and features out of my head. There was a number of years where I pretty much spent all my salary on just filming and making cool stuff. Now I get cool opportunities where I don’t always have to spend my money to do this stuff. It was an investment in my future.”

If there was a genesis for Semenuk’s move into video production, it came from the Red Bull video series Life Behind Bars, which ran between 2012 and 2014, starring Semenuk and a crew of freeride pals traveling, riding and living the charmed life of young shredders. When he looks back on the series now, Semenuk says he sees someone “very different” but adds that the experience informed his decision to take control over his content.

“It was a cool experience doing those videos. I learned a lot, but it was definitely an endeavor that helped me get the experience of doing what I really wanted to do,” he says. “People love them, which is great, but it wasn’t something I was overly hyped on. It was just a cool opportunity and I learned from it and kind of figured out what path I wanted to take beyond that.”

A case study in Semenuk’s vision and execution of a project is the 2019 video “Parallel.” For starters, he and Walker, along with photographer Ian Collins, Trek rider Ryan “R-Dogg” Howard and longtime crew members Evan “Intern” Young, Justin Wyper and Daniel Fleury, built a course on private land in Central California belonging to Ferrentino.

For three weeks, Ferrentino watched them hand-cut the trail from sunrise to sunset, mostly in rain-soaked mud, “scraping, digging, packing, carving out of an oaky hillside a pair of trails that are not on any map,” Ferrentino wrote for Bike. “They are lines in Semenuk’s head, something he and R-Dogg are coaxing out of the blank-canvas possibilities offered in the slope between the trees.”

The finished product, two minutes of action, shows Semenuk and Howard riding side by side down tracks, weaving through a grove of Royal Oak trees and open grass fields. Howard calls the project a highlight of his career.

“Brandon is the one coming up with the ideas and the locations,” Howard says. “A lot of people might think it’s all handed to him—here’s a location, here’s these

Semenuk and his friend Ryan Howard ride together during the filming of “Parallel” in February 2019.

Cam Zink, another freeriding pioneer, calls Semenuk “the greatest and most captivating” rider of all time.

insane jumps, here’s a house, we’ll get everything catered for you. But he’s doing all the behind-the-scenes work.”

A more recent example of Semenuk’s artistry and athleticism is a Red Bull Raw 100 video he and Walker produced in 2020, shooting at an abandoned mine in Merritt, British Columbia. Semenuk discovered the location on Google Maps, and, in Walker’s words, “brought the zone to life with his ideas.” The clip ends with a 360 inward tabletop into a manual into a heart-stopping backflip off a massive flat drop. The setting, the cinematography and editing and Semenuk’s powerful, visionary performance—it’s breathtaking. The clip has a million views on YouTube; among the 1,700 comments are quips such as “He is literally only competing with himself at this point. What an artist.”

There are scores of videos of Semenuk on the internet that have been watched hundreds of millions of times, but there are few indepth interviews to be found. Perhaps the most revealing was published in the November 2012 issue of Dirt magazine, written by Seb Kemp, who is now global brand director at Santa Cruz Bicycles.

In that piece—titled “Where Did the Robot From the Future Come From?”— Kemp explored Semenuk’s origin story: growing up in the mountain bike paradise of Whistler; following his brother’s footsteps into cross-country racing; being discovered at the Whistler dirt jumps by World Cup downhill winner and Trek brand ambassador Andrew Shandro; ultimately turning pro and quitting high school at age 14 to compete. The article also touches on Semenuk’s family life: growing up with his father, Mark, and half brother, Tyler West, who is seven years older, while his mother, Linda, lived a few hours away on Vancouver Island.

Jenine Bourbonnais, owner of Whistler’s Evolution shop, became his first sponsor when he was just 7 years old. She remembers him tagging along with Tyler, whom she already sponsored. Brandon handed her a handwritten résumé of what he liked to ride and told her, in a serious tone, “I’d like to be on your team.”

“From that moment, he became a little buddy of mine,” she says. “We helped him however we could, with parts and tuning his bike. We were part of his life. He rode so much, he needed stuff all the time.”

Over time, Bourbonnais took on a role as a maternal figure in Brandon’s life, periodically checking in on him, assuring he was doing his homework, mending his ripped-up jeans. She recalls that he was not only skilled as a mountain biker but also as a skateboarder, snowboarder and alpine skier. At age 12, Semenuk won the Canadian under-14 national crosscountry title; a year later he won the 38-kilometer British Columbia crosscountry championship, beating his closest competitor by more than 13 minutes.

As he developed, Bourbonnais fostered relationships with several of his first sponsors, often through brand reps that sold to her shop. “When he was 14 and I was initially getting him sponsorships, I would say, ‘Call Brandon and speak to him. You will understand that he is the type of person you want representing your brand,’ ” she says. “Brandon has always been himself— quiet, confident, polite and honest. When you see him do interviews, he doesn’t jump to say things. I wonder if that is part of his incredible skill; he maintains this calmness underneath everything, all the time.”

Shandro met Semenuk at the dirt jumps with his young son, Ethan, who took a tumble. Before Shandro could get to him, the talented teenager was helping the boy up and dusting him off. So when they ran into each other again at the jumps a few weeks later, Shandro asked about getting him on a Trek. Semenuk has ridden for the brand ever since. Shandro ultimately signed Semenuk to Trek’s burgeoning C3 freeride program and remains a mentor to Semenuk to this day.

“I was intrigued because this kid was really good,” Shandro says. “There was also a sense of a 14-year-old kid helping out my son. He didn’t know who I was, but I could see this kid has a good heart. If you look at what he’s done from age 17 to now, it’s unbelievable. Every year of his career he has produced, from winning competitions to getting into the film world to winning Rampage, while still putting out incredible projects and progressing the sport—doing things on a bike that other people have never done.”

After signing with Trek and Nike’s 6.0 action-sports brand, a 15-year-old Semenuk took his first trip to Europe, to compete in contests. Around then he also began spending his winters with

Semenuk goes for a spin on the otherworldly structure called the Sphere, which he helped design.

friends in Aptos, California, a small beach town set among the redwoods that for two decades also served as home to the Post Office Jumps, one of the most iconic dirt-jump spots in the world. When Semenuk’s friends would head north and rent a house in Whistler for the summer, he would stay with them instead of his family, sometimes sleeping in a closet.

Semenuk says he has operated with a high degree of autonomy as long as he can remember. “My parents weren’t super controlling, they weren’t super concerned. They let me just have my freedom,” he says. “I’ve always been self-reliant and self-dependent, just because of those things. I never really had to report back. I could go home, I could leave whenever I wanted. I could stay at my mom’s, I could stay at my dad’s—it just didn’t matter. My brother

is much older as well; he had already had his freedom, and I think I was kind of piggybacking off the fact that they were loose with him, so they were loose with me. I just got to do my thing.”

Semenuk and his fiancée have been together for five years and are set to be married later this year. This is not a topic Semenuk wants to discuss for this story. “I’d rather just keep my personal life personal,” he says. “I put out the things that I want to show people.”

Back in August, Semenuk was staring down an important decision. The upcoming Red Bull Rampage was scheduled on the same October weekend as the final stop of the American Rally Association’s National Championship series. As this issue went to press, with two events remaining, Semenuk was leading the overall

driver’s championship standings. Since signing with Subaru Motorsports in the spring of 2020, he had finished second and third overall, but had not yet won a series title. For an individual who is “inspired by new things all the time,” it was tempting to guess where he would prefer to be.

He did, however, deflect the notion that he feels compelled to be at his sponsor’s flagship mountain bike event as its defending champion. “I wouldn’t say there is pressure,” he says. “I’m sure they would like me there, like a lot of people. But a lot of people would like me at the other thing. How many more years am I realistically going to do Rampage? At some point I am not going to do it. If I didn’t do it this year, I could always go back next year.” (Despite such hedging, Semenuk’s name was there when Red Bull announced the confirmed slate of riders for Rampage in late August.)

If it’s hard to wrap your head around Semenuk’s success in rally-car racing, it’s useful to study his rise in slopestyle. He became a pro because he loved it and his skill kept improving. The same is true in rally racing: He began doing it for fun, got very good at it, and since he signed with Subaru Motorsports in 2020, it’s become economically viable—no more renting a car and personally insuring it for events.

“I’ve been fortunate to find one thing I really enjoy to do, and be successful at, and then rally is just another thing that I’ve been passionate about for a long time,” he says. “After 10 or 11 years of doing it just for pleasure, there was honestly no thought that I would ever do it at a professional level. It was always just doing it because I like to do it—same with biking. But I think being OCD and always trying to find the limit with things, I was able to progress with it.”

Obviously, rally racing and freeride mountain biking are radically different, but there is overlap on a subset of skills required for both—extreme focus, nerves of steel and quick assessments of tire grip on loose terrain. What’s just as important to Semenuk, he says, is the way his two passions complement each other.

“To force myself to step away from the bike is sometimes a good thing,” he explained in a recent video. “And then when I come back to riding, I’m so excited about the time I spent in the car, and I’m excited to get back on the bike. It gives me this burst of energy and stoke.”

The highest level of rally racing is the FIA World Rally Championship series; the next tier is World Rally Championship-2, with races contested on the same courses over the same weekends. For Semenuk, contesting races at the World Rally 2 level is the natural next step, but it’s not so simple. On the 2022 schedule, 10 of 13 events are in Europe, with none in North America. He’d like to test his skills against the best in the world, but he’s pragmatic about how he won’t reach the heights he has in mountain biking.

“I’m never going to be the fastest driver in the world,” he says. “I grew up mountain biking at a young age, and to be at the level I’m at now, it took starting at that young age to get to where I’m at. Not to say that I can’t get to a level where

I can be competitive at a world level, like World Rally 2, and compete with other really talented drivers, but I’m never gonna be the fastest driver. But sometime I will do it, just to see how the events operate and how the other drivers perform. It would be a fun experience.”

Whether he’s in his rally car or on a mountain bike, Semenuk regularly straddles that thin line between risk and reward. His smooth freeride style and winning rally record may convince some that he’s impervious to miscalculations; Shandro insists Semenuk has “catlike reflexes.” However, Semenuk is not immune to pilot error. He acknowledges a broken wrist that required surgery in the winter of 2020, and a broken collarbone from earlier in his career, but he’s not interested in cataloging his physical setbacks throughout the

years. It’s not helping him to progress, so why would he?

More than anything, Semenuk works hard to avoid injuries because they interfere with his busy schedule. “I definitely prepare a lot,” he explained on the Unclicked podcast. “The last thing I want to do is go into something unprepared, hurt myself and then not get to enjoy riding my bike for a number of weeks or months. That’s what honestly scares me more than anything else.”

And what about his relationship with mortality? How does he reconcile frequently threading that needle between life and death, or at least between life and severe injury? “I don’t really think about it, to be honest,” he says. “It’s not really something I need to dwell on.”

Building an elaborate and adaptable slopestyle playground in his backyard helped Semenuk alter the trajectory of his own career.

Semenuk displays his signature style and seemingly effortless grace during the filming of “Realm,” a reimagining of slopestyle riding.

One final thing that’s important to know about Semenuk: He’s been with most of his sponsors for well over a decade now, an anomaly in action sports. Those sponsors include Red Bull, Trek, SRAM, RockShox, Troy Lee Designs, Maxxis and Smith Optics.

This list illustrates that not only are Semenuk’s sponsors satisfied with the return on investment they receive—a Trek marketing manager called the longrunning relationship a “no-brainer”— but it also means that he’s content with the equipment and support he receives. He’s achieved an elusive status—he’s a franchise athlete, one of those rare talents that brands strive to be affiliated with for the duration of their career.

“I’ve held out for a few of those brands,” Semenuk says. “I had other opportunities, I could’ve maybe made more money elsewhere, but it was always about being in a place that made me happy. I haven’t really been one of those athletes to go fish around for money.”

In line with the mythology built around his image, Semenuk’s social media approach is to only post highquality riding images and videos— nothing personal and only on his time frame. Once again he’s an outlier in the cycling space, where the social accounts of many athletes are an endless stream of self-promotion and sponsor activation. Semenuk’s Instagram account, which has nearly 650,000 followers, posts no selfies, no impromptu smartphone videos, no gratuitous sponsorshipappreciation posts. Captions often just consist of a few words.

Semenuk disputes the suggestion that infrequent and impersonal posts might be the luxury of being the world’s greatest mountain bike rider—the notion that he doesn’t need to promote his sponsors like other athletes. It’s actually more work, he insists, to curate his social media presence than it would be to post whatever comes along. Anyone can walk around pointing an iPhone at what’s in front of them and put together an Instagram story. In his mind, it’s not that he’s coasting because brands are happy to be affiliated with him; he’s working harder to provide value to his sponsors. “It’s not about being the greatest, and it’s definitely not a luxury,” he says. “I could just take the easy route and just constantly feed people things, but I don’t want to do that.”

As always, Semenuk does things his own way. And it’s clearly working. He’s perhaps the sole mountain biker who transcends the sport. “Obviously, it’s down to [sponsors] trusting me to just do my job and create my worth for them,” he says. “But at the same time, this is a passion. I do it because I love it. If I start to do it in a way where I’m not gonna love it, then it’s not really worth it to me anymore. I’m not gonna risk my life if I’m not in it—if I’m not super down for it.”

Yet, while his riding and content creation are driven by passion, and he enjoys a lifestyle that many would envy, Semenuk still grinds. “He is the hardestworking dude I’ve ever met,” Howard says. “We will ride in the morning, then he’ll rip emails for two or three hours; we’ll ride again in the evening, then he’ll do emails until midnight. I’m like, ‘Dude, relax, you should be enjoying your lifestyle.’ He enjoys it, he’s very passionate about it, but it’s also his job. He wants to be the best. And it shows.”

Semenuk admits he works tirelessly. “Just like with any entrepreneur, it’s just work 24/7,” he says. “It’s a lot of effort, but I don’t look at it like work.”

And what about the future? Where does he see himself in 20 years? How many more times can he hurl his body down a cliff in Utah? Does he have a vision for the next chapter?

“No, not really,” he says. “I have goals and aspirations, but it changes constantly, and I work with the opportunities that I’m given,” he says. When asked to elaborate, his answer is characteristically opaque. He speaks of racing at the World Rally 2 level and hints at projects that have been on his mind for a while. Nothing explicit.

And perhaps that’s fitting for someone who is as much a magician, a visionary, an introvert and an artist as he is an athlete—from someone who has seamlessly transitioned throughout his career from slopestyle champion to prolific video producer to freeride luminary to rally-race winner. Semenuk seemingly excels at everything he puts his mind to. If you’ve got that kind of track record, you don’t need a long-term plan.

“I just want to continue to work at the stuff that I’m already doing and find new avenues,” he says. “You know, not just going back to doing the same thing over again—just trying to find new avenues to make it interesting.”

Kurt Sorge, a threetime winner at Red Bull Rampage, truly soars at the event in 2019.

LEAPS OF FAITH

Reported by JOE LINDSEY

WINNING BLIND

KURT SORGE recalls the second-highest score ever recorded at Rampage, on a run with two drops he’d never hit before that run.

2015 was probably my wildest run at Rampage. I was coming off an injury the year prior. It was a second-year venue, so it was my first time there. There wasn’t much line choice because most of the other riders had already chosen them [the year before].

There’s a pretty good recipe for a Rampage run: You need to have a little bit of everything. Sometimes you want to start with something that’s steep and raw, but a lot of the time that line will funnel you into the valleys and make it difficult to get back on the ridge where you can keep consistent speed. It’s tough because you’re jumping your way down and the whole mountain is quite steep. So it takes a lot of braking technique.

There were two big drops that I hadn’t even been able to ride in practice. Digging always cuts into practice, and that year our digging went all the way to the end. And those features are so big that the risk is high. I just wanted to hit them on my run and let that be that.

Where we built that first drop, it was hard to get to, so I didn’t actually go up there until the day of the event, because I knew I couldn’t practice it. I knew it was going to be a rough landing.

Nerves are high at the top. When you’re up there, your heart’s racing, and you’re doing breathwork. You do a couple of squats or circles with your arms to stay warm and limber. But then it’s just

visualizing every maneuver and every section of the course. It’s a long run, and it’s all very blind. You go off the top and just roll over into the abyss.

Typically, it’s pretty tough to lay down your perfect run. You never know how you’re going to land. And I think that’s what’s so cool about mountain biking: Whether you’re riding a jump line or a trail, you’re making it up as you go.

From the landing after the first drop, I wanted to get across and back onto the ridge. But it’s super blind, and where we had to put the lip wasn’t necessarily in the best spot. I knew I needed to go left, and in practice I made sure I did. But on my actual run I came close to missing the landing. Luckily I landed it and had a moment to recover.

The bridge gave me some rhythm. Then came that next big drop—the other one that I had yet to hit because I ran out of practice time—and it was wild to hit that because it was one of the biggest drops on the course. I went in a little fast and landed at the bottom, and thank goodness my bike was set up good, and I rode out of it no problem. And then it was a couple of last jumps, and I was stoked to make it down with a clean run. Until they read the score, I had no idea where I was going to be in the standings. I was just happy coming off two years of injuries and being able to put a run down that mountain.

Here, in their own words, three Red Bull Rampage competitors get personal about their past, present and future. Then explore the art of digging, how scoring works and the 2022 Rampage venue.

Growing up 20 minutes outside of Virgin [in southwest Utah] with Rampage in my backyard, I’ve kind of watched all my heroes growing up. Receiving that email with the invite is one of my biggest dreams come true. And to have that opportunity in my hometown is pretty surreal. I definitely think growing up with that terrain gave me a big advantage. Riding all that stuff feels normal to me.

I’m familiar with this year’s zone. I’ve ridden it for years now, so I’m not too nervous about finding a line. That zone has a huge variety of stuff. And it’s the second-oldest Rampage venue, so there’s definitely been erosion. That opens up a lot of opportunities for new lines. I think some of the guys will revamp their lines. I’m going to just do the same thing I did last year and figure it out.

I know how the weather works. When you’re starting at noon, that’s usually

when it starts picking up. And you’re looking down at the windsocks and they’re just ripping. You have to play the game of being calculated and knowing the risk you’re taking and just try to go about it as safely as possible.

Last year, as a rookie, all the other dudes out there had lines from that site. So I was kind of left with the slim pickings. I tried to stay away from other people’s stuff out of respect, and tried to find something that suited my style to make my way to the bottom. It’s difficult, not having a full fresh line to choose from, but you’ve got to work with what you’ve got.

I look for opportunities to build big jumps, features to do big tricks on, because I am really inspired from freestyle motocross. So I try to see my line to incorporate high-speed, fastpaced tricks from that world.

As I’m building my line, I’ll have an idea of what I want to do, and in the start gate I’ll close my eyes and just run through my line and pick out what tricks I’m going to do and visualize it.

Rampage is based on people’s past success. It’s big drops, big cliffs—catered more toward backflips and the big eyecatching stuff. The tailwhips and bar spins are going to score higher than what I’m doing. I’m just doing my own thing, tricks no one else is doing, which is why I do them. I try to steer away from what everyone else is doing and have my own style.

I talked to my diggers and was like, “Dudes, you know I’m not here to win.” The style of riding I do most likely will never win, but that’s not why I’m there. I’m there for the experience. I’m there to make memorable times with my homies. That’s what’s most important to me. I’d rather go to that event and just have the most fun in my life, with my best friends, versus putting all this pressure on myself and blocking out the fun aspect. At the end of the day that’s why I started riding bikes. And that’s what I want to keep it as.

“I’M NOT THERE TO WIN—I’M THERE FOR THE EXPERIENCE”

Buoyed by an impressive rookie performance, JAXSON RIDDLE is ready to keep the stoke going. Here he explains his true aspirations at Rampage.

Riddle electrified the crowd (and TV audiences) with his run at the 2021 Rampage.

OPPORTUNITY SEIZED

I rode bikes as a kid, then it faded out. My local skatepark said no to mountain bikes, so I started riding BMX. I ended up turning pro by 16.

I never really dabbled in mountain biking—I always liked it but I could never afford it. After BMX faded out, I was in my mid-20s, working for an electric-bike company, and one of my co-workers asked me to ride after work. So I built up this old bike and started riding and posted some clips on it. Then Brandon Semenuk reached out. I’d never even met him before. He ended up sending me a really nice downhill bike, a Trek Session, that he didn’t need.

That bike changed my life. I went to a local mountain and won some best trick contest. I bought a season pass and started mountain biking. But a month later, I let a friend do a run on that Session and he snapped the frame, and I had to hang up the mountain bike again. I worked in a bike shop and I got money to fix the frame that Semenuk gave me. So I started riding and filming again and jumped off the roof at El Toro High School. That video went viral, which is where YT ended up following me and sent me a bike.

Fast-forward a couple of years—I’m in Red Bull Rampage. It’s insane. It’s been a dream of mine but I never thought it

would happen. I’ve pretty much had no money my whole life. Growing up, my mom was just not around, and my dad passed away this year. Semenuk extending that bike to me really turned my life around completely. I hope he understands how much it helped.

I love digging. I have done big drops, and I know a lot of those dudes aren’t really sessioning 60-foot drops on the regular. They’re saving that for Rampage. I just have to try this first year not to overdo myself, to stick to a build I know I can get done. My goal is to make it to the bottom first run. I never thought I’d have this opportunity, so I want to get a good solid first run. For the second run, I have some tricks up my sleeve.

I lost my dad in March, and I haven’t had a proper funeral for him or anything. So on the way to Utah, I’m going to pick up his ashes, and I plan to spread some before I drop in. Whatever happens after that happens, but I know he’d be really proud of me.

Four years ago, I was basically about to be homeless, not knowing where I was going in life. Now, getting into Rampage is the craziest thing. I completely changed my diet and lifestyle for this event. I want to give it my all, because you only get one shot at this. I’m lucky to have this opportunity and I’m not going to waste it.

THREE MORE RIDERS WORTH CHEERING

THE INJURY COMEBACK CARSON STORCH

Injury is unfortunately endemic to elite freeriding, but even by those standards, Storch’s 2021 was a trial: In April he fractured his left tibial plateau practicing a dirt jump. That July, rotor wash caught his wheels as he was jumping out of a helicopter, and he broke a collarbone in the crash. Then at Rampage, he came up short riding one of his drops in practice and broke the other collarbone, preventing him from starting. Here’s hoping the 2022 edition is all free-flowing lines and perfect landings.

THE VETERAN KYLE STRAIT

The two-time Rampage winner is no unknown. But there’s no rider in the sport more versatile—or durable. For two decades he’s ridden and raced every gravity discipline known, from World Cup DH to slopestyle. He also holds the distinction of being the only rider to compete in every edition of Rampage back to 2001 (when he was just 15 years old). Strait is known for his bold, aggressive lines and slashy, big-mountain style of riding.

THE DIGGER TURNED COMPETITOR ALEX VOLOKHOV

2022 will mark Volokhov’s eighth visit to Rampage, but he’s also a rookie. How’s that work? Volokhov started out as a digger, first for Garett Buehler in 2013, and since then as lead builder for three-time Rampage winner Kurt Sorge. This year, Sorge will have to find a new crew, as Volokhov earned a wildcard entry as a first-time competitor. Volokhov isn’t sure how he’ll feel in his first start, but one thing he doesn’t expect is jitters. “One thing I really like about mountain biking is it puts you in the moment,” he says. “As soon as you’re riding you’re not worried about the helicopter or people watching or anything like that.”

DYLAN STARK ponders his winding path to his first Rampage—and how he doesn’t intend to let a dream opportunity slip by him.

Dylan Stark, who is making his Rampage debut in 2022, performs a flip whip at Red Bull Urban Rhythm.

Every rider who drops in at Rampage is worthy of support, but these three have stories that should make them fan favorites.

HILLBILLY SCIENCE

Rampage is unique among top freeride competitions in one major respect: how lines are created. As a big-mountain competition, the raw, natural terrain isn’t suited for sculpting massive, perfectly manicured takeoffs; it relies more on elevation relief and features to make natural jumps. Start to finish, the event lasts a week, as riders get four days to build a line before practice starts, using just two assistants, or diggers, and hand tools. While most viewers tune in for competition, the outcome is shaped with shovels days before, carved into cliff faces by masters of what veteran Kyle Strait calls “the hillbilly science.”

“The craziest realization is going out there and seeing how much you have to build in so little time,” says Alex Volokhov, a longtime digger turned competitor. “It’s insane for three people to build a top-to-bottom line in eight days.”

First, everyone has to choose lines that are distinct from other competitors, and match their skills and style. Jaxson Riddle, a first-time competitor in 2021, says the basic approach is to start at the bottom and go up, linking features together in a line that flows smoothly down the mountain. But that’s easier said than done. “Sometimes it’s hard to envision the line when it’s natural on the face of the mountain,” admits three-time winner Kurt Sorge.

Riders and their crews work from dawn until dark. Trust and good communication between a rider and his diggers are essential, so most riders bring close friends to dig. It’s a digger’s job to build a line that offers the opportunity for a high score—and allows the rider to do so safely. “There’s a lot of pressure, because you don’t want to build something wrong that your best friend is going to do the craziest thing in his life on,” says Volokhov. Even the most experienced riders and crews sometimes need more than four days to finish a line, which means that once practice opens they can’t ride some features.

It’s part of what makes Rampage distinctive. “I don’t know when I’ve worked harder than at a Rampage,” says Sorge. “It’s just such a fun event to be a part of. You have the best riders and builders from around the world. Everyone’s having a good time and you get to take in the culture that mountain biking produces.”

Like all Rampage competitors, Poland’s Szymon Godziek, who competed at the event in 2021, helped dig his own lines.

In the first Red Bull Rampage in 2001, freeride legend Wade Simmons slid and dropped his way to victory, and the only perfect score ever awarded at the event. But freeride’s progression has transformed the sport. Today, runs are scored by four judges, all former competitors. Using multiple camera angles and instant replay, riders’ runs are judged for amplitude and drops; trick difficulty; line choice; style; and speed and fluidity. Riders get two runs and are ranked on their best score.

While there’s no single definition of a winning run, the highest-scoring efforts do tend to highlight a mix of styles. Rampage is, at heart, a big-mountain competition with slopestyle mixed in. The Virgin River Gorge’s geology means that lines start out steep and raw as riders descend ridgelines and big drops, and then mellow out into a lower-angle bowl, perfect for making massive booters and gap jumps for throwing slopestyle tricks. It’s not enough to launch (and land) massive drops or gap jumps. Riders must pair that air with some flair. To wit: The last three editions have seen an average of four big tricks per podium run.

Because speed at Rampage is mostly gravity-generated, you might think it’s as simple as letting it rip down the hill. Not so fast, says three-time winner Kurt Sorge, literally. “It’s tough because you’re jumping your way down and the mountain is quite steep,” he says. Braking technique is key. But you need to improvise and be able to get momentum back up if needed.

The return to the site Rampage used from 2008 to 2013 doesn’t mean we’ll see old lines recycled. For one thing, wooden features used there were phased out after 2015, so all drops and jumps will feature natural takeoff and landing, and erosion has erased some old lines. The ideal line has about two big drops, but it’s key to stay on a ridgeline or have a way back to one, says Sorge, or you risk getting funneled into a valley, losing too much altitude between drops or jumps. Lower in the bowl, riders will want a line that links multiple big jumps and lets them carry speed for big air.

Part art, part hard labor, digging is key to success at Red Bull Rampage.

A PRIMER ON SCORING Here’s how the winner of Rampage is decided.

THE ARENA

TOP OF MOUNTAIN

The rugged venues of Red Bull Rampage, held every year at various spots in the Virgin River area of southwest Utah, are the most iconic sites in freeride mountain biking. The 2022 course, last used nearly a decade ago, is a stadium-like bowl with steep cliffs and massive jumps that will push riders to the limit and deliver thrilling competition. Here’s an annotated breakdown of the venue.

CHOOSE YOUR LINE

Riders have multiple needs for their chosen route: a smooth flow; big drops up top that let them carry speed to the slopestyle jumps below; and a good view for cameras and judges. After big drops, look for riders to get back on a ridgeline, which serves all three goals.

BUILD YOUR OWN

Fewer than half the field has competed in this venue, and erosion has reshaped the landscape. Expect most riders to use new lines or heavily modify old ones to reflect the weathering and the sport’s progression since the last visit.

DOUBLE BLACK DIAMOND

The course area is almost like a ski bowl; riders traverse along the ridge like a catwalk until they reach a natural line to drop into the cliff bands— the steepest part of the course, where big, bold drops, up to 70 vertical feet, are located.

SIDE OF MOUNTAIN

WHIP IT GOOD

As riders descend, they’ll transition from bigmountain-style drops to huge slopestyle jumps. Up high, riders focus on landing clean, but the less risky landing zones down below are ideal for bar spins, backflips and other crowd(and judge-) pleasers.

START HERE

The start area atop this windy, knife-edged ridge is short on amenities, but riders don’t stay long. They can go in either direction, but most take the left ridgeline. Elevation drop to the finish corral is around 1,000 feet.

HIKE A BIKE

Rampage takes place on undeveloped federal land, and there’s no road to the top. The only way to the start house is for riders to walk up, although they’re allowed to have assistants help carry their bikes, which typically weigh 35 to 40 pounds.

100% NATURAL

The last time Rampage was held here, wooden features like the Oakley Icon Sender drop played big roles. But artificial structures were ruled out after 2015, so riders must reimagine the options with natural jumps and landings only.

MIND THE GAP

Another crowd favorite that must be rethought is the Canyon Gap jump. On the lower part of the course, look for riders to use the arroyo in the center of the bowl that held that feature, using tricks that drop in rather than jump over it.

A breakdown of the 2022 Rampage course.

DESCENDANT

B-Boy Victor was photographed for The Red Bulletin in New York on August 10.

OF THE BREAK

Words JEFF WEISS Photography LAUREL GOLIO

For nearly a decade, Victor Montalvo has held rank as one of the best competitive breakers in the world, but his B-Boy origin story traces back even further—to before his very existence.

Victor will represent the United States once again at the Red Bull BC One World Final in New York on November 12. In 2015, he won the World Final in Rome.

he story of how Victor Montalvo became one of the greatest B-Boys of his generation doesn’t start with the moment when he discovered the art form at 6 years old. Nor does it open a decade and a half ago, when he began appearing at cyphers in Central Florida, displaying such precocity that the unknown teen was swiftly anointed a savior of American breaking. In actuality, the tale of how B-Boy Victor became an international champion—and one of the United States’ best hopes to win the gold medal in breaking at the 2024 Paris Olympics—begins in the projects of Puebla, Mexico, more than a decade before he was born.

“My dad always told me that ‘whatever you do, give it 100 percent and be the best at it. Even if you’re a janitor, just be the best janitor,’ ” says B-Boy Victor, referring to the mentality that really sparked his success. After a long day of practice in August, he’s currently lounging on a couch in his graffiti-covered practice space in West Los Angeles, where he relocated a couple of years ago to pursue opportunities in

Tthe entertainment industry. “My dad would always tell how he wanted to become a champion in breaking, but he was never able to.”

Rewind to the fall of 1983. In an indigent district far from the Zócalo, where factory workers paid a portion of their salary to live in tiny, rundown, corporate-owned houses, the Bermudez twins discovered what was then known as breakdancing—the fledgling art form that emerged from the South Bronx of the mid-1970s.

At the time, the five boroughs of New York City might as well have been a solar system apart from Puebla, a subtropical highland metropolis located about 80 miles southeast of Mexico City, known for its mole and UNESCOprotected architectural heritage. But even though hip-hop still remained largely unknown in large swaths of the nation that invented it, Victor and Hector Bermudez—the father and uncle of the future B-Boy Victor—learned about breaking through a visitor from the United States. On a trip back to his homeland, a friend’s cousin had brought a Betamax player to the brothers’ neighborhood, along with a homemade breaking documentary that revealed the windmills, headspins and downrocks first popularized by the Rock Steady Crew. Inspired by the creativity of it all, the Bermudez twins rewound the tape endlessly, attempting to master the moves that they saw.

Then in the summer of 1984, everything exploded. The seminal dance films Breakin’ and Beat Street became international sensations, introducing adolescents around the globe to a phenomenon that had almost exclusively been concentrated on the Eastern Seaboard and in Los Angeles. But the 13-year-old Bermudez brothers had gotten a head start.

“When we went to the movies to watch those films, there were guys trying to break outside of the theater,” remembers Victor Bermudez. “But because we’d watched the documentary beforehand, we had more experience and knowledge. When we started dancing, everyone went crazy for us.”

As the trend took root in Mexico, the Bermudez brothers and their friends formed a breaking crew that swiftly became known as the area’s finest. In particular, the twins were known for their dazzling power moves. Over the next 18 months, they participated in big competitions across the state of Puebla. There was no prize money, but they’d receive food, transportation and occasionally a hotel—a massive deal to kids barely into their teens, who had never left their neighborhood and dreamed of dance stardom.

But by 1986, the first breaking boom died out; the Bermudez twins switched their energies to playing guitar and drums in a death metal band. But music didn’t pay the bills either. In the hopes of

escaping the region’s crushing poverty, the siblings joined a street gang.

“We were getting into trouble . . . doing bad things. My mom told me that I was either going to die or end up in jail,” Victor Bermudez remembers. “She told me that I needed to come with them to the United States. I told my wife, who was my girlfriend at the time, ‘Let’s go.’ ”

Arriving in the U.S. required a harrowing journey across the Chihuahuan Desert, often without enough food or water. After the border crossing the family was picked up and crammed 20-deep into a van, then transported to a different, unfamiliar outpost. Their odyssey ended in Kissimmee, Florida, a predominantly Puerto Rican city in the outer suburbs of Orlando, where the family eventually settled. By 1994, the year of B-Boy Victor’s birth, his father and uncle had found employment working as chefs in a restaurant at nearby Walt Disney World.

The notion of winning fame and riches through dancing became a distant memory. In their new country, the Bermudez brothers dedicated themselves to work and supporting growing families. But they never entirely forgot their childhood passion.

Sometime around the turn of the century, the family was watching Beat Street in their living room when the famous battle scene between the New York City Breakers and the Bronx

Rockers at the Roxy came on the screen. Hector and Victor told their children about how once upon a time they used to do those moves back home in Puebla. The 6-year-old Victor and his older cousin began cracking up with laughter. Never ones to back down from a challenge, the Bermudez twins rifled through their closets, busted out their old hoodies and began doing windmills, backspins and pops. The children were blown away and demanded that their parents teach them the routines.

But after a brief infatuation, B-Boy Victor and his cousin, Hector “Static” Bermudez, quit B-Boying for four years. When they eventually started back up again, there was no half-stepping. Obsessed with the dance, they practiced daily and formed a crew from around the neighborhood. None of them had any clue about the burgeoning domestic and international breaking scene. After all, this was the mid-2000s. The underground, back-to-basics traditionalism of the late 1990s was already out of vogue. 50 Cent and pop-rap crossovers controlled the Billboard charts. To most high school kids in Central Florida, breaking seemed as anachronistic as a manual typewriter.

“We thought we were the only breakers in the world,” B-Boy Victor remembers. “We weren’t looking at YouTube; we didn’t even know what YouTube was. We didn’t have a computer and I didn’t have a phone until I was 18 years old. All we had was

old videocassettes of some people on MTV doing headspins. We would just try to copy them.”

Wearing a navy-blue hoodie, track pants and sneakers, the 28-year-old with closely cropped black hair and forearm tattoos looks like an archetypal B-Boy— albeit one with the aesthetic appeal of a pop star.

After our interview on this broiling August afternoon, B-Boy Victor—who is most commonly known by the mononym Victor—will head to Santa Monica to play beach volleyball with some friends. For the last several hours he’s been practicing his generationally renowned power moves in preparation for this November’s Red Bull BC One World Final in New York, where he’ll represent the United States as a wild-card entry.

To watch Victor break is to wrongfully assume that he emerged straight from the womb with a staggering array of lightning backspins, airflares and windmills—as though he long ago struck a Mephistophelian pact to forever defy gravity. But while he was genetically gifted with natural athleticism, agility and flexibility, his path to stardom required years of rigorous practice alongside his brother and cousin. There was no fancy studio to nurture their talent. Instead, the crew practiced on the carpet with cardboard on top, or on the concrete with a mat placed down for protection.

On the track at Sara D. Roosevelt Park near the edge of Chinatown, Victor effortlessly shows off the moves of a world champion B-Boy.

“My dad always told me that ‘whatever you do, give it 100 percent and be the best at it.’ ”

“I loved losing because it pushed me to do more. The more I started losing, the better I started getting.”

“I’d be practicing in my room and see him walking by, peeking through the door to see what I was doing,” his cousin Static says. “I’d be like, ‘Do you want to come in and learn?’ And that’s when we really started training. We would practice every single day and night—to the point where my father and uncle would be like, ‘OK, it’s time to go sleep!’ ”

For the next three years, the pair tirelessly refined their moves alongside a squad of about a half dozen. Without any contact with the outside breaking world, they developed their own original style, unaffected by contemporary trends. Finally, someone in the crew heard about

a breaking jam in Kissimmee. When they showed up, they seemed like the survivors on Lost, finally making it off the island.

“It was crazy because no one knew about us,” Static says. “They were like, ‘Who the heck are these kids?’ People thought we were from out of town.”

At just 14, Victor finished in the top 16. At the next tournament in Gainesville, Florida, their crew took home the grand prize. From there, it was on—except when it wasn’t. The road to the international circuit was paved with numerous losses. Even the most dominant B-Boys will fail more than they succeed. This forces a necessary mental

fortitude: It’s not about the defeat, but rather how you bounce back.

“I loved losing because it pushed me to do more,” Victor recalls. “I remember training hard, going to all these events and not placing and I’m like, ‘Ugh, I gotta go back and train harder.’ Then I’d go into another event and place but lose. I’d be like, ‘I gotta get better.’ The more I started losing, the better I started getting.”

Victor inherited his ferocious determination from his father, whose own hardships taught him the importance of strength, discipline and a will for greatness. The elder Victor remembers this era vividly, specifically a time when his son came to him in tears. Then 15, the future champion was devastated after a near-victory in a regional battle.

“I told him he needed to learn from it. If you lost, you did something wrong— not in a bad way, but in a way where you need to fix it so you can win the next time,” Victor Bermudez says. “I knew he was good, but I always taught him the importance of being the best at whatever he wanted to do. If he wanted to be a dishwasher or a chef, I wanted him to be the best at it.”

By the end of the 2000s, B-Boy Victor and his crew, Flip Style, acquired DVDs of Red Bull BC One competitions—and discovered the global breaking galaxy. The dawn of YouTube offered access to clips of international events, which spurred his stylistic evolution and desire to break on a larger stage. His first major victory occurred at the 2011 Red Bull BC One cypher in Tampa, which qualified him for the national finals in Chicago. Until that point, he’d never left Florida.

“Everyone was like, ‘Who’s this kid? He’s gonna lose first round,’ ” says Victor, who competed in Chicago as “Vicious Victor.” “I was the underdog. No one believed that I was gonna make it past the first round. Like, ‘This kid’s gonna lose, easy.’ ”

But only a few months after his 17th birthday, Victor nearly earned the top prize, ultimately losing to B-Boy El Niño in the final round. It was a “star is born” moment that won him invitations from all the elite tournaments around the world—the first being the Notorious IBE competition held each fall in the Netherlands. He’d dreamed of this moment for years, but two problems

stood in his way: his lack of a passport and his senior year of high school.

“My mom and her brothers and sisters were like, ‘Don’t let him go. He’s not going!’ Even my older brother was like, ‘He has to stay in school!’ ” Victor says. “I begged my mom every day, but my dad wanted me to go. He was like, ‘Shut up. Don’t tell her nothing—you’re going.’ ”

Even though he was short on money for rent, Victor’s father paid more than $500 to get a rushed passport for his son, determined for his child to realize the dreams that he’d never had the chance to fulfill. The Netherlands trip was followed by an invitation to the Battle of the Year in France. Victor soon fell behind in

school, dropped out and moved to England for the next three months.

“My mom and her side of the family were really upset,” Victor says. “They thought it was horrible—that I was going to be a nobody—that I needed to go back to school to have a career. But my dad was OK with it. He was like, ‘All right, just follow your dreams. Do what you’re doing.’ He was the only one who truly believed in me.”

After several years of placing high in tournaments but rarely winning, Victor’s breakthrough arrived in 2014. He won a battle in France and another in Taiwan. By now a member of the vaunted crew The Squadron, Victor still

suffered plenty of losses, but his hard work and raw talent allowed him to take the art form to the next level. No one before him had blended such blindingly fast and agile power moves with such preternatural confidence and a rhythmic communion with the music. With his athleticism and sense of improvisation, he brought forth the next evolution of routines without sacrificing the traditionalist fundamentals of the greats who stood before him.

It all led up to 2015, when Victor won the Red Bull BC One World Final championship in Rome, the Silverback Open championship in Philadelphia and the Undisputed World B-Boy Series in

Victor is capable of blending blindingly fast and agile power moves with a rhythmic command of the music.

“He’s probably the most dominant B-Boy of all time in terms of competitive breaking,” says Roxrite.

France (which he also won in 2017). It began a run matched by few B-Boys in modern competitive history. He’s won too many battles to list in full, but a few of his most notable victories over the last half decade include Outbreak Europe in Slovakia (2017, 2019), the World Urban Games in Hungary (2019) and last year’s WDSF World Breaking Championships in Paris.

Despite the success, those around him describe a modest, tenacious and kind person, so dedicated to his family that he recently bought them a house in Kissimmee with his earnings.

“He’s really humble and hard working,” says his wife, Kateryna Pavlenko, herself a celebrated dancer known as B-Girl Kate. “It feels like he was born under a lucky star. His hard work takes him wherever he wants. He has a really good heart, passion and patience. It just accumulates and allows him to keep getting better at whatever it is that he wants to do.”

But over the past three years, there was a period where Victor fell out of love with the sport. The problem with being at the top is that it requires a tremendous amount of effort to remain there—not to mention the pressure that accompanies it. You can practice all day, but it often starts to feel rote, as though you’re going through the motions. By the beginning of 2020, Victor understood that it was time to take a break, which soon became a forced hiatus due to the pandemic.

“I just lost the love of it,” Victor says. “I was like, ‘Man, I gotta stay away from breaking.’ Maybe it was the events, maybe it was the music, but it didn’t feel the same.”

In 2020, he returned to Florida for six months to regroup with his family. When the international borders reopened, he and Pavlenko headed to her native Ukraine. During his B-Boy sabbatical, Victor took up Muay Thai fighting, bike riding and running. Since returning to competition, he’s continued to rack up victory after victory, most recently in July, taking the breaking gold medal at the 2022 World Games in Birmingham, Alabama.

“He’s probably the most dominant B-Boy of all-time in terms of competitive breaking,” says Ivan “Roxrite” Delgado, a legendary breaker in his own right and a fellow member of The Squadron. “He takes what has already been done to new

levels and at the same time adds his own twist. He has already won three of the biggest events that the Olympic Federation has hosted. His chances of winning the gold medal in 2024 are very high.”

Winning Olympic gold in breaking might be Victor’s preeminent and most immediate goal, but it’s certainly not the only one. He projects a quiet and low-key temperament, but beneath the surface, he’s brimming with aspirations for the future. He wants to raise a family, invest in real estate and operate a business— ideally, a training gym for breakers and other athletes, perhaps with a café that offers the healthy food options that Kissimmee currently lacks.

Of course, bringing home the first-ever Olympic gold medal in breaking would create massive opportunities and potentially make Victor the face of the sport, both nationally and internationally. But in line with his sense of tradition, he deflects discussion of the personal gains it may offer—instead speaking to the broader opportunities that it would afford the art form and the community.

“We’re going to get more respect out of it,” Victor says. “There are two sides to breaking: the battling side and the culture side. I want people to know about the culture as well, because the competition side can get boring if you watch breakers and don’t understand what they’re doing. I want people to see both sides.”

This deeper awareness of its cultural roots could only come from someone who has been steeped in it since childhood, or in this case, even before he came into consciousness. The Olympics offer a chance to realize a dream that spans generations—the father who never had the opportunity to watch his talent fully bloom, who sacrificed everything to ensure that his son could be the greatest in the world. A victory in Paris would go much deeper than acclaim, wealth or fame. It would be a culmination of a hope that began four decades ago.

“I didn’t have a chance to do it, so it means everything to watch my son live his dreams. And through him, I can live my own dreams,” says his father, Victor Bermudez. “I always wanted to be the best but couldn’t because I had my kids and was young and had to work. When he travels abroad and I see the pictures or he calls me on a video call, I can see everything through him. Everything I wanted to do, he’s doing now.”

Near the Manhattan Bridge, the pigeons keep their distance from Victor’s powerful moves.

Husband-and-wife dancers Kwikstep and Rokafella were photographed for The Red Bulletin in the Bronx on August 15.

POWER COUPLE

As breaking reaches new global heights, iconic dancers Kwikstep and Rokafella are on a mission to preserve its cultural roots.

Words I SABELIA HERRERA

Photography SABRINA SANTIAGO

It’s 1988 and the New York breaking legend Kwikstep is on tour. “Here’s this Puerto Rican kid from Brooklyn in the middle of an arena in China,” he says, recounting the memory in a thick Nuyorican accent. He recalls popping and locking through his routine and then finishing off his performance with a series of mindblowing headspins, inciting roars from the crowd. “Then I hear what I think are explosions. So I get up out of my headspins and the explosion was people breaking the barriers to come down onto the arena floor,” he remembers, eyes wide. Naturally, Kwik assumed he was going to have to fight someone. “But then I realize in their eyes is love. They start throwing me up and down and hugging me and kissing me.”

The 54-year-old has had dozens of formative moments in his lifetime, but few were more influential than this one. “If I’m a kid from Brooklyn, being able to get this outta these people who don’t even know me, to give me love—and the love they felt from a tiny little speck in the arena floor—this has a massive impact, more than I realized. And I want to be a part of this for the rest of my life.”

Kwik, more formally known as Gabriel Dionisio, grew up all over New York’s five boroughs, soaking in hip-hop as a foster kid. “I was experiencing hip-hop before the hip-hop terminology came along—before that was even a word,” he says at a cozy diner in the Parkchester neighborhood of the Bronx. More than 40 years later, he is a venerated leader in New York’s breaking scene. When I first meet him, this is hard to imagine; he seems like any other Nuyorican Bronx resident on a midsummer afternoon, dressed in cargo shorts and a blue T-shirt advertising a record shop in Midtown. Before we sit down at a booth in the diner, he takes a bottle of organic maple syrup out of his bag and places it on the table. He orders a tuna melt, a ginger ale and a short stack.

As he narrates his life story, Kwik’s legendary status unravels with slow precision. He speaks about his trajectory with cinematic narrative detail, as if he were watching these experiences happen to someone else on screen. He describes appearances in music videos for luminaries like KRS-One and Monie Love, and tours with dance companies that allowed him to travel the globe. Throughout our conversation, he takes calls from collaborators about upcoming events and workshops; he’s appropriately busy for a man who’s an icon.

Along with his wife, the revered B-Girl known as Rokafella, Kwik has been pivotal in keeping the political roots of breaking culture alive in New York City. Rok is a 51-year-old Afro-Boricua breaker and an outspoken critic of anti-Blackness and misogyny in breaking; together, they’ve seen this community

transform from a street movement to a massive commercial enterprise, expanding into the realm of music videos, sponsorships and off-Broadway plays. Together they run a nonprofit called Full Circle Productions, dedicated to teaching young people about the political roots and future of breaking. In the aftermath of the 2020 Black Lives Matter protests, they co-founded United Hip-Hop Vanguard, a collective devoted to uplifting the contributions of Black and brown people in breaking. As the dance sport continues to reach new global heights, like its upcoming debut in the 2024 Summer Olympics in Paris, Rok and Kwik remain committed to preserving the culture’s political foundation and liberatory promise.

The first time that Kwikstep witnessed what would come to be known as breaking was in 1978. He was walking past a pool hall when a man inside dropped to the floor, flaunting a move called the helicopter. He’d already been doing the robot by that point, a product of watching Soul Train religiously. He’d also started to see vibrant, bold lettering appear in scribbles across subway cars and building walls and felt the boom of speaker-frying beats up his block. “All of these things at one time—the music, the colors, the trains, the people—you were watching things being born as you were living it,” he says.

When Kwik was around 1 or 2 years old, he became a foster child (his mother, a heroin addict, could no longer take care of him). He had an itinerant, difficult youth and lived across the boroughs in seven different foster homes. He attended park jams, roller rink socials and block parties in dozens of neighborhoods, an experience that exposed him to the profound scope of hip-hop culture in its nascent era. “I heard through the streets about a crew, the Rock Steady Crew. And the Floor Masters, Dynamic Rockers,” he says. “Then I started to learn, ‘Oh, they do this thing called breaking, B-Boying, rocking.’ ”

Eventually, an Italian American man from the Bronx who worked as a courier in the city adopted him and they moved to New Jersey. His father would sometimes drop him off at Washington Square Park to pass the time while he was at work. One day, Kwik brought his skateboard to the park, and as he was cruising over the pavement, he heard the rumble of a familiar breakbeat filtering through the air, until he came upon a group of dancers. “I’m watching people break, but I’m not looking at it as breaking,” he says, explaining that the term hadn’t really been coined yet. “I’m like, ‘Yo, this is what people are talking about. This is what I want to do for the rest of my life.’

” In 1981, he went into breaking full throttle. “I wanted to become part of the movement that was helping to change the world,” he says.

Kwik was only 13 or 14 years old back then; he started learning how to break on concrete. He met his first mentors, VQ and Lou Rock, at a school jam. “I was breaking in some dingy yellow sweats,”

‘‘I WANTED TO BECOME PART OF A MOVEMENT THAT WAS HELPING TO CHANGE THE WORLD.”

A venerated leader in New York’s breaking scene, Kwikstep witnessed the culture’s early foundations as a young teen and quickly became hooked.

At the Point, a community development center in the Bronx, Kwikstep and Rokafella are joined by B-Girl Mantis and B-Boy Flonetik, two long-standing members of their Full Circle Souljahs crew. Kwik and Rok were married inside the center’s theater more than 20 years ago.

he says. “And these guys walk in.” VQ was dressed in an all-white ensemble, rocking a low Afro, a white bomber jacket and white Lee jeans, like a hip-hop santero. Lou Rock sported a classic D.A. pushback and black bomber jacket, resembling a Puerto Rican greaser. “When they opened the doors, they looked like two Shaolin warriors,” explains Kwik. “Time stopped. Their essence was different.”

They eventually took Kwikstep under their wing, albeit separately at first. “As I was learning the fundamentals, power moves and breaking were being born,” Kwik explains. It was VQ who taught him to stay away from gangs, drugs and alcohol—a path that allowed him to mature in the scene, even as he lost friends to these vices.

As the 1980s progressed, hip-hop spread across the city and the country. Before long, heavy hitters like Jazzy Jay and Afrika Bambaataa were getting booked for gigs at clubs in downtown Manhattan, including the famed Roxy, where B-Boy and B-Girl competitions happened almost every weekend. “This is a club that really helped change breaking,” explains Kwik. “The best of the best from every borough came to Manhattan to show their shit. And you couldn’t be wack,” he adds. Breaking was finally becoming ubiquitous; it started to appear in TV shows, movies and commercials.

But by 1986, everything had changed. “The same way they say a meteor hit the earth and dinosaurs disappeared, that’s what happened with breaking,” says Kwik. Corporations made a caricature of the art form, reducing it to a flashy, colorful party trick used to sell products instead of portraying its community significance—its capacity to save lives. “We had a Burger King commercial and there was somebody with a burger in their hand doing the moonwalk,” Kwik says, visibly annoyed. “Anything that becomes commercialized that comes from a cultural root is

gonna get watered down. And once we sense that as a people, we just walk away from it.”

Kwik never really left breaking behind, though, even as it went out of style. “I was holding onto it for dear life, still wearing Pumas and Adidas suits and all of that,” he remembers. “People were laughing at me.” He’d still go and break in eminent clubs like Roseland or Heartthrob, but the crowd would often throw ice at him, or spit into the dance circle if he tried to break. “I was in the Palladium with my du-rag. I was in Roseland with my du-rag. I was in Heartthrob with my du-rag,” he declares. “When everybody gave up on breaking, I did not.”

By the late 1980s, breaking only had a phantom presence in New York. New movements, like freestyle and house music, were taking over the city’s nightlife scene.

Back in the Bronx, Ana Garcia, better known as Rokafella, recounts the early days of dance music’s reign in New York. “The clubs really set me in my direction,” she says. “I went every weekend. If I could go Friday, Saturday and Sunday, I went. I would put my school uniform in my bag and go to school from the club on Monday.”

Rok reminisces about this era while sipping on coffee at a local café called the Boogie Down Grind, her perfectly styled locs sitting atop her head like a crown. The shop’s decor is pure Bronx iconography: bright graffiti tags scrawled above the bathroom door; fruity frozen cocktails named after local rap legends like Remy Ma and Cardi B; party flyers and photos of hip-hop icons from the late ’70s plastered wall-to-wall. A book penned by the café’s owner stands next to the cashier, quietly announcing the establishment’s progressive mission: “Reclaiming Your Community: You Don’t Have to Move Out of Your Neighborhood to Live in a Better One.”

It’s a fitting location for Rok to tell her story, a place that reflects her own commitment to social justice and fondness for the borough. Garcia was born in East Harlem to a Puerto Rican farming family; her father migrated to New York in the 1950s. She was exposed to hip-hop first as a spectator, not as a participant; her brother would bring LPs home, or she’d watch older kids spitting rhymes downstairs outside of her apartment building. When she got older, she eventually got the courage to jump into cyphers or dance circles from time to time.

She got into her first club at 17 with a fake ID. Breaking had already languished by that point, and though some people still did floor moves, Rok was a club kid at first. “I was a house head—I liked freestyle, I liked new jack swing,” she explains. As much as she loved the club, she quickly became aware of what it meant to be a woman in nightlife. “Coming out of my parents’ house from the projects, I couldn’t dress up the way I was going to look inside the club,” says Rok. “I would leave my house with big pants and a big shirt. That was a defense for me, a place of safety.”

B-Girl Rokafella and her husband, Kwikstep, run Full Circle Productions, a nonprofit dedicated to teaching young people about the political roots and future of breaking.

Like so many other women in male-dominated worlds, Rok survived three sexual assaults during this time, a reality that would later shape her commitment to battling sexism in breaking.

After a stint taking classes at Hunter College, Rok decided she wanted to dance full-time. She left home against her parents’ wishes and started incorporating herself into the scene more actively. Her then-boyfriend introduced her to dancers and other figures in the community, and even though she remains thankful for the connections, Rok says her boyfriend was abusive. The pair got high together, struggled to afford food and lived on the streets.

“I grew a lot of thick skin from being out on the streets for that long,” she says. “I learned how to judge character pretty quickly but also dealt with a lot of the misogyny, dealt with a lot of cops who’d see us out there, and it was easy to abuse us.”

She eventually moved back in with her parents, assuming she was going to give up dancing forever. She met Kwikstep in 1991, but it wasn’t until 1994,

after she’d left her boyfriend and decided to stay clean, that their relationship dynamic changed. “I felt something about Kwik. I always felt something about Kwik because when I met him, he was giving me all this culture, and we were rebels to still do this,” says Rok.

They ran into each other on the train one day when she was with her family. Kwik convinced her to come audition for a dance company that same night; they were going on tour to Vienna and needed a breaker or popper. She went, even though she was wearing dress slacks and high heels—not quite the appropriate gear for a breaking audition.

“It was my turn to do a solo, so I had to take off my high-heeled shoes,” she laughs. “The socks were slippery, so I had to do it barefoot.” Even without sneakers, she made an impression and was accepted into the company.

“We ended up talking the whole time on the plane catching up,” says Kwik with a smile. “And we ended up falling in love in Vienna.”

“Breaking comes from capoeira, tap, salsa—all these things are legacies and lineage, Black especially,” says Rok.

Kwik and Rok have now been together for 28 years. They’ve learned to adapt and evolve, especially as breaking has experienced so many transitions since its inception. In the early 1990s, the pair got involved in hip-hop theater, where they performed in and helped write independent shows. “There was an openness in theater, at least underground theater,” says Rok. “You wrote it, you recited it, you promoted it, you produced it.”

In 1991, members of the groups Rhythm Technicians—which Kwik belonged to—and the Rock Steady Crew joined forces and created So! What Happens Now?, a play often billed as the first hip-hop musical. Under the name GhettOriginal Productions they would also go on to perform Jam on the Groove in 1995, an off-Broadway production that eventually went on a national and international tour and helped breaking, popping and locking come back into focus in the city.

Around 1992, along with Rok, Kwik decided to found his own company, Full Circle Productions. What started out as a breaking crew gradually grew into an internationally known hip-hop collective; they wrote shows with political themes, touching on

anti-immigrant sentiment and police brutality. The company, whose members are known as Full Circle Souljahs, gained a reputation for the way it linked social commentary and breaking. With all the success, Rok and a friend, Violeta Galagarza, registered Full Circle as a nonprofit in 1996.

Since then, Full Circle has been committed to teaching the next generation about breaking’s roots and providing spaces for breakers to train. Rok and Kwik have taught workshops and choreography classes in public schools and community centers and even spoken at university conferences. At a moment when breakers are mostly training for international competitions or for music video appearances, Full Circle is carving its own lane, one with attention to Afro-diasporic history and identity. “Every time I teach a class, even when I’m doing choreography, I want to bring that out,” says Rok. “Breaking comes from capoeira, tap, salsa—all these things are legacies and lineage, Black especially.”

Rok and Kwik continue to direct Full Circle Productions, which celebrated its 30th anniversary earlier this year. The crew performs at festivals and events across the country, and it’s not uncommon to see Kwik and Rok hit the floor during gigs. They may

Full Circle Souljahs celebrated their 30th anniversary as a crew earlier this year. Mantis and Flonetik are part of the fifth generation of FCS.

not be as nimble as they used to be, but they haven’t stopped dancing, even decades after they first fell in love with breaking.

Generations of breakers have called Full Circle Souljahs home, and many have moved on to form their own crews in other cities. B-Girl Mantis and B-Boy Flonetik, for example, are part of the fifth generation of FCS. The couple, who met through Full Circle and got married earlier this year, attended Kwik and Rok’s practice sessions at a community center called the Door; they were officially invited to join Full Circle in 2011 and 2012.

Mantis says that when Rok would train her, she noticed immediately that she stood apart from other mentors. “She wouldn’t just show you something and then leave and disappear,” says Mantis in a phone interview. Other trainers, she says, are “not trying to stay consistent with you and see you develop. But that’s what Rok and Kwik have been doing for years.”

Flonetik and Mantis say they’ve learned a ton from Rok and Kwik about breaking, but their guidance has also been spiritual and political. “Kwik and Rok both had several conversations with us about, ‘What is your ancestors’ struggle?’ ” says Mantis. “Once you know that, then you’ll be able to push hard with all your ancestors behind you,” she explains. “’Cause that’s what breaking came from— breaking came from Black and brown struggle in the Bronx and New York City.”

“Breaking itself is not just a dance,” adds Flonetik over the phone. “If you take care of the way that you’re dancing and you’re safe, or you’re taking risks and you’re doing moves that are difficult, you’ll take those chances in life.”

Mantis agrees. “One thing that really stuck with me that Rok always said was, ‘We are superheroes. We do amazing things on the floor that nobody else can do,’ ” she recalls. “It really makes you realize that all those things that you do on the floor, all the strength you need, all the wherewithal, all the determination, you take it with you everywhere.”

Over the years, Full Circle has won two grants from the Ford Foundation. In 2006, it was awarded funding for a nationwide initiative dedicated to highlighting the contributions and accomplishments of B-Girls. Rokafella organized a six-city tour that included performances, theater appearances and dance contests, followed by community discussions about the issues women face in breaking.

More recently, Full Circle won a grant for the aforementioned United Hip-Hop Vanguard. The collective emerged after breakers across the country organized a series of open online forums to unpack how anti-Blackness was plaguing the scene. The final

iteration of the project, now headed up by Kwik, Rok and a small network of other breaking cultural producers, consists of national meetings, panels, workshops and informal competitions, held in cities like Portland, Cleveland and Los Angeles.

The organization proposed a five-point plan, intended as a call to action to the wider breaking community. Its stated goals: foster an “artist-led ecosystem” that holds corporate sponsors accountable; make Black and brown voices visible both behind the scenes and on stage, as a way of highlighting breaking’s Afro-diasporic roots; invest in local scenes long-term; promote exchange between younger and older generations; and involve members of the local economy to participate in events.

More than just dancers, Kwik and Rok have evolved into full-fledged activists and power players. “That’s really what the feeling for me and Kwik for years has been: ‘We believe in you. We’re coming. We’ll help. If we can share our spotlight with you, call me,’ ” explains Rok. “As hip-hop culturalists, we’re activists by nature,” adds Kwik.

Breaking is headed to the Olympics as an official sport in 2024, and while the visibility is exciting, Rok says she has some concerns about how hip-hop will be represented by the institution, and by the younger breakers who are consulting for the Olympic committee. She attended a few meetings and offered her perspective but worries that the advisers are mostly invested in the competition and athleticism of breaking’s presence at the Olympics.

“There’s nothing like, ‘You are responsible for how hip-hop shows up,’ ” explains Rok. “You have to make sure the music is licensed so that we are playing our authentic breakbeats. You have to make sure that the commentators are from the hood.” At the same time, she recognizes the value of the event. “I’m still excited, and I still believe there’s hope,” she says. “Whether or not we’re in a position of participating or just spectating doesn’t matter; we’re going to be there in Paris in 2024. If we’re not helping and it’s a very cheesy, contrived version, it’s not on my watch.”

After almost 30 years together, Rok and Kwik keep subverting expectations and infusing their world with the political energy it needs. At the end of the day, it’s their love of hip-hop culture as a whole that has kept them going.

“I wasn’t meant to be an addict, wasn’t meant to be crushed by the sexual assaults, wasn’t meant to be homeless as a teenager,” reflects Rok. “I was meant for greater things. The energy that I have, I think, comes from that rebirth and redemption. For me, hip-hop brings redemption to me in a way that nothing else does.”

Kwik adds that the emancipatory element of hiphop is a major reason why it has become globally influential, and why it’s been so important to his own journey. “That’s why hip-hop culture is so addictive,” he says. “Because it allows you to tap into something that can set you free.”

“As hip-hop culturalists, we’re activists by nature,” Kwik says of the legacy this crew has built together.

EXPERT EYE

As a decorated B-Boy, photographer Frankie Perez brings a finely tuned point of view to capture the pure spirit of breaking culture. Here he shares some of his most evocative images taken over the years.

Words NORA O’DONNELL Photography FRANKIE PEREZ

The subject of this photograph isn’t a breaker, but she’s a contemporary dancer. “I wanted to show my breaking point of view on somebody who wasn’t a breaker,” Perez explains. “I was trying to exaggerate her movement to put my perspective on the images that we were making.”

FRANKIE PEREZ

Growing up in Queens, Perez vividly recalls the day he witnessed someone breaking for the frst time when he was 13 years old. “I was taken aback because it was such a new thing for me,” Perez recalls. “The rest is history.” After honing his craft as a B-Boy, Perez has won battles around the world, including the Red Bull BC One Cypher in New York in 2021. But these days, he’s behind the camera as often as he is in front of it, and his perspective as a dancer with a keen eye for movement permeates his work. Last year, Perez released his frst book, See Me Up? It’s ’Cause I’ve Been Down, a collection of images that captures the world of street dance. “It was always part of the plan to bring breaking to the forefront of pop culture through my art,” he says. “I want to make something that people from the scene can be proud of.”

Follow his work on Instagram: @pluralist_

Self-portrait: “I had these flowers left over as props, and I was just messing around with them,” Perez says. “I just try to create as much as possible, whether I have an assignment or not.”

These two images, taken just minutes apart, show Anna Banana Freeze of Massive Monkees, a legendary Seattle crew who battled at Red Bull’s first-ever competitive breaking event, Lords of the Floor, in 2001. In the lower image, the celebrated B-Girl is pictured at the top of the Space Needle in Seattle.

Perez shot this image in Montreal as part of an international campaign for Depop, a U.K.-based fashion resale platform. “That was big for me,” Perez says. “One of my missions is to bring B-Boys to the forefront of pop culture.”

Manhattan, near Astor Place: Perez captures B-Boy Spinnerak, a childhood friend who grew up breaking with him in New York. The shot made the cover of his book. “On a personal level, this is one of my favorite images that I’ve ever made.”

Austin, Texas: While actively making images for his book, Perez approached a group of skaters at a park, asking if they’d like to be in a photo with Jay, a member of his Supreme Beingz crew. “It was super spontaneous,” Perez says.

“Sometimes ideas for images just pop into your head,” Perez says, like shooting a B-Boy with a sword. Here, Omen, another member of the Supreme Beingz crew, executes the photographer’s vision in Orlando, Florida.

Whenever Perez has the chance to shoot for a major campaign—in this case, for Converse—he looks for opportunities to cast breakers.

Here, B-Boy Fate of the Ground Illusionz crew serves as a model for the Fall 2020 collection.

Perez enjoys experimenting with light leaks that give texture to the image.

“This is my boy Wonka, a popper from Montreal,” Perez says. “I wanted to capture a non-dance portrait to show a more complete representation of the scene.”

“I want to show the moments in between the breaks,” Perez says of this collection of images featuring New York B-Boy Nebz, all shot in Astoria Park in Queens. Some of the images are screenshots from a video they did on the same day. “There’s a need to show breaking from different perspectives.”

The day after Perez won the 2021 BC One Cypher in New York, he captured this image in Flushing Meadows Park, near his house in Queens. Nearby, his little sister was playing pat-a-cake, inspiring this re-creation with three B-Girls.

Shot on the same day as the image above, Perez photographed B-Boys Mike the Titan (left) and Nebz as they worked through a routine. “I didn’t give them direction, but I let them give me what they wanted in an organic way,” Perez says.

Throughout Perez’s work, there are nods to images he’s studied from the Dominican Republic, where his family is from.

This image, taken in Montreal during the same shoot as the opener, was inspired by a picture of Dominican farmers.

Platt soars at Pier 35 on Manhattan’s Lower East Side.

Youth Movement

Words PETER FLAX Photography LANNA APISUKH

Jiro Platt, a rising star in the New York skate scene, is poised to take off.

The LES Coleman Skatepark in New York City is not one of the more tranquil spots to skate in America.

Nestled under the belly of the Manhattan Bridge, trains heading to and from Brooklyn rattle overhead every few minutes. On a sweltering August afternoon, everyone pushing a board is glistening with the effort of their commitment and the humidity.

Still, Jiro Platt is relaxed and in his element. The pro skater, 16, is itemizing a few of his favorite NYC skate spots when a Q train blasts through. Platt just pauses and smiles. His journey in the sport began at this park a decade ago, rolling around on a Termite board that had been sitting around the apartment for a couple years.

“I was 6 and watching this show on Disney XD called Zeke and Luther,” he laughs, clearly still having fun. “It was this show about two kids who skate and give tricks really stupid names—they had one called a duck flip or something.”

The goofy cartoon sparked a serious curiosity. So the kid got his dad to take him to the nearest skatepark, the one we’re standing in now. Truth be told, Platt has not really stopped skating since then. He’s not old enough to see a Rated R movie without an adult, but he’s already put in his 10,000 hours on a board. He’s skated here from morning until sunset on summer days and raced here from school to work on his tricks and even logged quality time on the coldest winter days. His dad would sit in the car with the heat cranked, and Jiro would hit the rails, ledges, hips and stairs—wearing long

johns under his pants, a winter coat over his hoodie, wool socks and leather gloves. “Everything on your board starts to work differently when it’s that cold,” Platt says. “And you have to keep skating without stopping; otherwise you’ll freeze.”

In so many ways, skating in New York City is not like skating in Southern California, the historic heartland of the sport. The culture here is generally less suburban and less mainstream; the weather is wilder, the terrain is denser. Platt is a street skater now, and the streets of New York provide an endless playground of steel and concrete.

Platt is in that beautiful place where he still has one foot planted in adolescence and another stepping toward adulthood. He’s intensely serious but unfettered by the full weight of obligation. In his spare time, he likes to screw around on a surfboard—he’s got one stashed at a friend’s house out in Rockaway Beach— and he likes to fiddle on the electric guitar. Platt says he can pick most songs up by ear, so he only practices songs that pose some kind of technical challenge. Recently, he figured out the fingerpicking on Fleetwood Mac’s “Never Going Back Again.” He shakes his head—“That one’s a lot harder than it sounds.”

Jiro’s father, Jeremy, who still accompanies his son for many media opportunities, chimes in. “The way he plays guitar, how he approaches it, is a lot like how he skates,” he says. “He’s drawn to technical challenges and then he has this very intense focus to figure things out. The intensity of his focus can be quite strange and inspiring to me.”

Thanks to his natural talent, his fierce but easy spirit and the way he’s been skating since he was a grom, Platt has spent quality time with many of the top skaters in the vibrant New York scene— local legends who’ve inspired, mentored and befriended him. Guys like Steve Rodriguez, who among other things designed the LES park and introduced the kid to some of his early sponsors. And pros like Mark Suciu, Danny Supa and Frankie Spears. “I probably have more friends who are older than me than I do my own age,” Platt says. “I always had friends who were twice my age, and because I’ve been around so many good skaters, I’ve tried to progress off of them.”

It seems to be working. His streetskating skills have earned him trips to contests all over North America and to Europe and even to some podiums. When asked to name a highlight, Platt laughs

Many of New York’s top skaters have inspired, mentored and befriended Platt.

about winning the Miami Open in March 2021 when he was 15. “That’s the first legit contest that I won with actual skaters who are sick and even some pros,” he says, adding that the win earned him a golden ticket to compete at Jackalope Montreal. “I was really happy about that. It was so cool that I almost don’t remember the moment that I won.”

He’s done big trips to Copenhagen to compete in the CPH Open—“that’s just the sickest contest and coolest gettogether I’ve ever been a part of,” he says. “I definitely want to go on more skate trips—to go back to Europe and also do some skating in Asia.” The latter is of special interest to Platt because he has a lot of family on his mother’s side in Japan.

But for now, and probably for a long time, Platt’s heart and skating dreams still reside in New York City. With Red Bull’s support, he’s scouting and filming and skating tricks for his first big part. When asked to preview some highlights from filming so far, Platt is understandably cagey. But he gets excited talking about

scoping out a trick on the hulking granite structures at Four Freedoms Park on the tip of Roosevelt Island. “It’s like a big pyramid almost, with a big drop on the end,” he says with a wide grin, noting that some of the sickest spots to skate in New York require clandestine planning to capture. “I skated inside the Oculus,” he adds, referencing the newish monumental and architectural transit center at the World Trade Center. “That was crazy—we had to dodge some things to skate there.”

Rest assured, the rebel spirit of skating in New York is in good, young hands. After some time shooting portraits at the LES skatepark, Platt leads a small production crew a few blocks north and east to Pier 35, a recently redeveloped eco-park with an elevated wooden deck surrounded by staircases and framed by sweeping views of the East River and the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges. In other words, an awesome spot to launch.

As tourists disembark from a Liberty Cruise gawking with dumbfounded faces, Platt flies over a nine-step staircase with

an ease that belies a decade of tireless practice. (Platt mentions later that years of childhood Jiu-Jitsu taught him a lot about the art of falling.) When the photographer asks he if can perform the same trick with the bridges in the background, Platt rides switch and takes off. More impressive than the trick itself is the style he brings to each movement—a balance of technical skill, raw grace and icy-cool improvisation.

Later, when asked to name his longterm goals, Platt looks skyward and strokes his chin, as though this is a tricky question that he hasn’t fully pondered before. He’s still a teenager, still discovering his talents and potential, starting to see the world and the fruits of his labor. He wants to win contests, of course. And he wants to film parts that blow people away. But after some more thought, Platt offers up two objectives that say volumes about his mindset and destiny. “First of all, I want to be a wellrounded skater and always be learning new tricks,” he says. “And I want to make sure I keep having fun. I love competitions, but my favorite part are the sessions right afterwards when I’m skating with my friends. These are moments where it feels as much of an art as a sport.”

With the Manhattan Bridge and the East River in the background, Platt shows his skills and style.

Fever Pitch

Mel D. Cole is renowned for photographing hip-hop royalty and social protest, but he also loves soccer. Here he captures the action at the New York Derby.

Words PETER FLAX Photography MEL D. COLE

“I like to get in there,” says Cole, who shot fervent fans like this one partying outside New York’s Red Bull Arena on July 17. “I’m definitely willing to choke on the smoke to get the shot.”

The talent for documentary photography came long before the passion for soccer for Mel D. Cole. But now he’s seriously into the game.

Cole’s career shooting hip-hop artists began two decades ago, after he snapped Polaroids of Erykah Badu and Common at a Manhattan club. Things took off from there. Soon he had a digital camera and was photographing Kanye West at Madison Square Garden. Best known for shooting intimate, unstaged moments in black and white, Cole became the Roots’ official photographer, as well as stars like Jay-Z, Beyoncé, Kendrick Lamar and Drake. Not surprisingly, brands like Nike and Puma came calling.

Cole, who grew up in Syracuse, New York, played football as a kid. He watched the World Cup a few times but says he found the game boring. That changed eight years ago, when he decided to take a break from playing Madden NFL and gave FIFA 14 a try. He got hooked by the movements, strategies and tension of the game. And when he tuned in to matches on TV, he connected the action in the EA game to the action on the pitch. “I saw how Raheem Sterling’s moves on the field were just like on FIFA,” he says. “I began falling in love with the game.”

Cole is not a half-measure sort of guy, so soon he was attending big games. One thing he saw was how in the U.S., soccer hadn’t done a great job connecting with Black audiences. The game didn’t attract top young Black athletes, nor did it generate a huge fan base in the community. So in 2019, he founded Charcoal Pitch FC, a photo agency with a mission to highlight the multicultural beauty of soccer culture. Last year, Cole produced the docuseries Five Boroughs for Premier League stalwart Chelsea to feature Black fans of the club in all corners of New York.

It’s in that spirit that he tackled the project on the following pages for the New York Red Bulls, capturing the spirit of the New York Derby—the growing rivalry between the Red Bulls and New

York City FC. “I want to show Black Americans that soccer is fucking amazing,” he says.

In 2020, Cole’s documentary interests expanded further as he traveled the East Coast photographing the urgent wave of social protest that arose after the murder of George Floyd. He also shot Trump rallies and was inside the Capitol building on January 6, 2021. Last year, a curated selection of photographs was published in Cole’s first book, American Protest

Cole sees connective tissue that binds his work—whether he’s photographing hip-hop legends or fervent social protests or a dynamic soccer rivalry. “I like to get in there—I’m definitely willing to choke on the smoke to get the shot,” he says, noting that the tenor of emotions at protests are on a whole different level. “Still, wherever I am, I want to capture the range of people’s emotions. In that way, the soccer pitch is a lot like the stage at a concert.”

The July 2022 contest marked the 23rd rendition of New York’s burgeoning crosstown rivalry between the Red Bulls and New York City FC. Diehard fans were duly amped.

Cole likens the vibe in the tunnel before the match to being backstage with top talent moments before an important concert. “Everybody is hyped, but also it’s super professional,” he says. “Everybody is getting ready to perform at the best of their ability.”

While shooting fan culture requires constant movement, Cole says that photographing a pro game typically demands that he pick a spot, have two cameras with different lenses ready to go and above all anticipate when something dramatic is about to unfold.

“When I shoot fans, I want to see and capture the full range of emotion,” Cole says. “That emotion is really what makes a big soccer match a spectacle. And at this derby, the energy was definitely there.”

When photographing players on the pitch, Cole says he’s always keeping an eye out for the emotions that arise in pivotal moments. “You have to understand the game and be ready to react quickly.”

In 2019, Cole founded Charcoal Pitch FC, the first Black-owned soccer-specific photo agency. “I want to interpret the game and culture through a multicultural lens,” he says. “I want to show Black Americans that soccer is fucking amazing.”

“I’d been to this derby before, but I’ve never seen the supporters this amped up,” Cole says. “To be in the middle of all that energy was fucking dope.”

ARE THE BREAKS

In New York, the birthplace of hip-hop, the city that never sleeps still gets funky.

Words CARLY FISHER

For exclusive party vibes, head to Pianos on the Lower East Side.

Do it

So the story goes:

History was made at 1520 Sedgwick Avenue in the Bronx nearly 50 years ago, when a teen known as DJ Kool Herc was asked to play music for his little sister’s neighborhood party. Armed with two turntables and a mixer, he began isolating drumbeats and breaks, unintentionally inventing the breakbeat-style of DJing that became the backdrop for rapping.

Drawing a mix of MCs, DJs, graffiti artists, B-Boys and B-Girls, his parties forged a community and a culture that would spread across the city, paving the way for the golden era of hip-hop that would catapult into a global phenomenon. Today, the block is immortalized as Hip Hop Boulevard, recognized by

The official birthplace of hiphop in the Bronx.

the New York State Office of Parks, Recreation and Historic Preservation as the birthplace of hip-hop. “It’s like going to Graceland if you’re an Elvis Presley fan,” says Debra Harris, a Bronx native and founder of New York City’s hip-hop-centric Hush Tours.

Harris grew up watching pioneers like Kurtis Blow, Slick Rick, Afrika Bambaataa and LL Cool J open the door for icons like Notorious B.I.G., Wu-Tang Clan, Jay-Z and Nas—all while street art and fashion were taking the world by storm—but she was shocked to realize that no one had really cemented New York’s hip-hop history. Taking matters into her own hands, she started Hush Tours.

Today, a ride on the tour is a guaranteed way to meet a pioneer or protégé, with

frequent appearances from OGs such as Grandmaster Caz and Mighty Mike C from the Fearless Four, as well as local MC Rayza and the Dynamic Rockers B-Boy crew.

To soak up the past, present and future of 50 years of New York City hip-hop, be ready to pound the pavement. Get started with these essentials vetted by Harris and local community organizer Rasheed Akbar.

EAT

Get a taste of hip-hop by starting with a bite. Hot spots like Sei Less, Lucien and Jay-Z’s 40/40 Club will have you seated close to hip-hop royalty (a hefty price tag for the honor), but many rappers have set up more accessible options to support their local hoods. Among the most popular: Sweet Chick, a chicken-and-waffles joint backed by Nas with locations in three of the five boroughs, and Juices for Life, Styles P’s juice bar in underserved neighborhoods in the Bronx, Brooklyn and Yonkers.

Foodies should head directly to award-winning chef JJ Johnson’s communitydriven rice-bowl concept, FieldTrip, which frequently plays hip-hop as an homage to its Harlem neighborhood. Two-time Michelin Bib Gourmand winner Beatstro blends the Southern comfort and Puerto Rican flavors of the South Bronx, backed by DJs spinning early hip-hop. Find the cool kids hanging out at Rise Radio, a vegan café, bar and party space in Bushwick where there’s always a DJ on hand. Catch raw up-and-coming talent at the Boogie Down Grind in the Bronx, a hip-hop-focused café and event space.

PLAY

Hip-hop culture in New York City is still very much word-of-

mouth, hosted in underground DIY spaces, often with lastminute announcements on Instagram or private listservs. Still, it’s not hard to catch a vibe in Manhattan and Brooklyn. Lower East Side favorite Pianos is known for hosting exclusive shows and parties that are always crowded as hell and make for decent TikTok fodder. SNS Bar, situated in the basement of streetwear shop Sneakersnstuff in the Meatpacking District, frequently hosts namedrop-worthy DJs that fill a room with a crowd sporting only the finest brands. For something a bit more casual, head over to Schimanski in Brooklyn for deep-cut dance nights with low-key hipsters.

SHOP

The good news about streetwear shopping in New York City is that most of it is conveniently found in Manhattan, making it easy to hit multiple shops at once. The downside is that it is also very easy to end up blowing your life savings in a matter of a few hours at staples like Supreme, Stüssy, Aime Leon Dore, Extra Butter and Kith.

If you’re young and trendy and into hip-hop, skate culture, modeling or rapping, you and your friends are already en route to the LAAMS Boutique. Hawking art, clothes and accessories from coveted brands and ambitious newcomers, the shop has been dubbed a community center for artists who want to mess around with screenprinting. Find your next statement piece at concept shop Bowery Showroom, featuring exclusive drops and vintage finds, or VFiles, an incubator for upand-coming designers that launched Off-White and Hood By Air. Even if you buy nothing, it’s worth a trip to the NYC outpost of Dutch

streetwear company Daily Paper to snap a pic of its stunning exterior made entirely of flattened Arizona Iced Tea cans.

High-end sneakerheads should put Dover Street Market, Solestice, Flight Club and Stadium Goods on the list for exclusive Jordans, Yeezys and other coveted drops. Fitted-hat collectors will find the best selection of limited editions at Hat Club. Vinyl snobs should hit the bins at legendary A-1 Records, the popular record store co-signed by everyone from Chuck D of Public Enemy to Mike D of the Beastie Boys, as well as Legacy, a cozy shop in DUMBO featuring new and used hip-hop, soul, jazz, funk, R&B, reggae and Soca.

LANDMARKS

After making the pilgrimage to Sedgwick Avenue, dive into a history lesson at the [R]Evolution of Hip Hop exhibit at the Bronx Terminal Market, the temporary home of the future Universal Hip

Hop Museum (slated to open in 2024). Then swing by the Graffiti Hall of Fame in East Harlem to explore iconic street art. While you’re in Harlem, a visit to the Apollo Theater is a must—a legendary venue that launched the careers of everyone from Kid ’N Play and Biz Markie to Lauryn Hill and Questlove.

Chase your hoop dreams at the Cage, New York’s landmark basketball court off West Fourth Avenue, which is always a solid bet for people watching. From there, it’s a quick train ride to Brooklyn, where you can pay homage to the Beastie Boys at Adam Yauch Park in Brooklyn Heights or visit the stomping grounds and commemorative mural of the Notorious B.I.G. in Fort Greene. Go deeper into Bushwick for a look at the modern scene at the Bushwick Collective, a magnet for upand-coming artists from around the world to show off their art on large-scale murals.

Die-hards would be remiss to pass up a visit to Queens

and Staten Island. Roll up to the corner of Linden Boulevard and 192nd Street in the St. Albans neighborhood of Queens, which is now dubbed Phife Dawg Way for the late Tribe Called Quest member. Frequently used as a hip-hop-video backdrop, the World’s Fair and Queens Museum in Corona Park makes for a chill afternoon stroll before visiting the

hawker stalls for street eats at Queens Night Market. Bring the ruckus to Staten Island and check out the mystical domain of Wu Tang Clan, celebrated at the corner of Vanderbilt Avenue and Targee Street, which is now known as the Wu Tang Clan District, and NYC Arts Cypher, a nonprofit graffiti art studio and creative arts event space for MCs, DJs, breakers and more.

Explore iconic street art at the Graffiti Hall of Fame in East Harlem.

The new Universal Hip Hop Museum is slated to open in the Bronx in 2024.

The Bushwick Collective is a magnet for trendy artists.

November RED BULL BC 0NE WORLD FINAL

For its 19th edition, the Red Bull BC One World Final returns to New York City, the birthplace of hip-hop (see our NYC travel guide on page 101 for more info), to celebrate breaking heritage and crown this year’s world champions. After more than 60 qualifier events hosted across 30 countries, the best B-Boys and B-Girls on the planet will reunite for this important moment in the art form’s trajectory to battle it out at the world’s most highly anticipated one-on-one breaking competition. redbull.com/events

November NEW YORK CITY MARATHON

After last year’s triumphant return, the world’s largest marathon is back again. But unlike 2021’s limited participation due to COVID, the event will be at full capacity this year, with 50,000 runners expected to take on the challenge of covering 26.2 miles across the five boroughs of New York City. Even if you’re not running, the experience for spectators can be breathtaking, as thousands of people flood the streets of the most populous city in America. Just be sure to plan your travel accordingly— or just relax and take in the spectacle from a window in a building along the course. nyrr.org

November RED BULL SYMPHONIC ATLANTA

This event, which always pairs a modern artist with a symphonic orchestra, brings together the Rap Boss of the South, Rick Ross, and the 50-piece, allBlack Orchestra Noir. Maestro Jason Ikeem Rodgers (pictured) will conduct a show grounded in the robust rhythms of Southern rap in this special ode. redbull.com/events

1

December

ART BASEL MIAMI

At this glamorous and splashy art fair in Miami, more than 60,000 people gather to explore offerings from artists from some of the world’s top galleries—all while rubbing elbows with the cultural elite. If you have a deep pocket, then great art is available to purchase— from established artists and rising stars to real discoveries of new talent. Thru December 3; artbasel. com/miami-beach

EVIL EPOCALYPSE

Every bike Evil makes shakes up the sport, and we expect no less from its first electric model. The Epocalypse brings a whopping 166 mm of rear-wheel travel, thanks to its renowned Delta suspension linkage, tuned to match the 85 Nm of torque from Shimano’s newest EP8 motor.

A 630 Wh battery provides enough range for big rides without big weight, and the signature Evil geometry—short chainstays, slack head angle and ultra-low bottom bracket—give it a poppy, playful feel. $12,000; evil-bikes.com

GEAR FOR GOING BIG

Ready to Rampage? Whether you’re ready for monster stepdowns and jumps or just want to mix it up on trails with friends, here are the best new mountain bikes and gear.

Words JOE LINDSEY

The Epocalypse is Evil’s first electric bike, and rest assured it’s playful and poppy to ride.

SANTA CRUZ NOMAD 6

The new version of the acclaimed Nomad has two wheel sizes: 29 inches up front for stable steering and burly traction, and 27.5 in the back for nimble handling. The VPP suspension remains one of the best-performing designs ever made, and the carbon frame is strong enough to have a downtube cutout for storage. The low center of gravity, dropper post and big 200 mm brake rotors inspire confident descending on all terrain. From $5,649; santacruzbicycles.com

HAYES DOMINION T4

For riders who love steep terrain, this disc brake kit offers four-piston power with unparalleled modulation and adjustability. The 17 mm pistons and large metallic pads offer superior braking bite and durability. Fine-tune lever reach and dead-stroke pad contact point. Crosshair alignment eliminates rotor drag and noise. The carbon lever blade and titanium hardware cuts weight. Comes with a lifetime leakproof warranty. $325 each; hayesbicycle.com

GIRO INSURGENT SPHERICAL

Both ASTM downhill and BMX certified, this is the first full-face helmet to integrate the balland-socket design of MIPS Spherical. In a crash, an inner and outer shell slide and rotate against each other, dissipating rotational energy thought to be a factor in concussions. Each shell features different foam chemistries to protect against high-speed slams and lower-energy falls. And with 20 vents, it’s the coolest full-face design Giro’s ever made. $350; giro.com

TRAIL BOSS 3-PIECE/3-HEAD

This lightweight, modular system gives you fullsize tools to build trails and features. Three segmented handle sections (in fiberglass or steel) connect with aircraft-grade aluminum couplers to provide extra leverage. At the business end, swap between the Hardox 450-grade steel heads: a mattock for digging and chopping, a McLeod for raking and shaping and a 13-inch saw for trimming branches and clearing deadfall. $450-$480; trailbossusa.com

SMITH SQUAD MTB

When you need more protection than glasses, these goggles let you see clearly in any conditions. The swappable ChromaPop lenses have tint options ranging from flat gray light to direct sun and are tear-off compatible for sloppy days. Carbonic anti-fog technology and copious ventilation prevents misting up. Absorbent foam provides a comfortable, secure fit with a wide strap to ensure the goggles stay put on any helmet. $60-$85; smithoptics.com

NORTH SHORE NSR-4

Savvy riders have long used North Shore Racks’ elegant transport systems, and for 2023, the racks get an improved cradle design to fit more styles of bike. The NSR-4 holds four bikes in a vertical configuration (up to 200 pounds total) and folds for compact storage. With adjustable height, setback and angle, it can be configured for almost any vehicle with a 2-inch hitch and at 50 pounds is lighter than almost any other fourbike rack. $750; northshoreracks.com

The elegant North Shore NSR-4 holds four bikes and weighs less than most other racks.

TRAIL

RIDING GEAR

CANYON SPECTRAL 125 AL6

With progressive geometry cribbed from Canyon’s Spectral 160 enduro line and tweaked for all-around handling, this playful platform likes to go uphill and downhill. There’s 125 mm of rearwheel travel and a highly tuneable Fox rear shock, plus 140 mm of front-wheel travel from the burly Fox 36 Rhythm fork. Four-piston Shimano SLX hydraulic disc brakes and big rotors provide confidence to hit every berm and drop in total control, and meaty Maxxis tires grip everything from hardpack to loose chunder. $3,500; canyon.com

ALLIED BC40

Big rides demand a bike that can keep up. The BC40 uses a proven four-bar suspension design with 120 mm of front and rear travel to keep you fresh. The modern trail-bike geometry prizes efficient pedaling for long climbs, with stable steering to roost technical descents. The BC40’s carbon-fiber frame is made by hand in Bentonville, Arkansas. It’s perfect for multi-day races and equally comfortable on a spirited spin. From $7,625; alliedcycleworks.com

SHIMANO XT DI2

Shimano created electronic shifting, and this version adds new features for e-bike owners that pair to its new EP8 motor system. Auto Shift selects the right gear based on sensors that track cadence, speed and pedaling dynamics like torque. Free Shift goes further, detecting terrain even when you’re coasting and pre-shifting the drivetrain for what’s coming next. Customize both with the e-Tube app on your phone. Available only on new e-bikes; bike.shimano.com

Light wheels are a smart upgrade for any affordable bike, except they’re often costly. These carbon-fiber trail wheels weigh the same as hoops costing hundreds more. The tubelessready rims are made from a carbon blend from Toray, one of the world’s top producers. The asymmetric design fits tires from 2.2 to 2.6 inches, while hubs run on the proven Star Ratchet drive mechanism. Comes with a fiveyear warranty. $1,000; logoscomponents.com

EVOC TRAIL PRO 10

This hydration pack offers style, safety—and it’s roomy enough for essentials for almost any ride. The external tool pocket provides quick access for repairs, while the main compartment can hold bulky items and up to a 3-liter hydration bladder (not included). The padded Airo Flex hip belt adds stability, with stash pockets for snacks. A contoured back pad increases ventilation, while the Liteshield Plus protector insert offers spinal protection. $240; evocsports.us

FOX ENDURO SLIP-ONS

These lightweight pads easily stow in a pack for long, less technical sections, but the moisturewicking Lycra sleeves and mesh back panels are articulated for comfort to keep you cool even if you leave them on for a climb. Foam inserts offer generous padding and protection against rocks, branches or an errant pedal and are removable for easy washing. Silicone top and bottom grippers keep the pads in place even railing rock gardens. $80; foxracing.com

AMERICAN CLASSIC MAUKA

Many trail riders like tires with big, meaty tread, but rubber made for DH racing can be overkill. This tubeless-ready tire blends descending traction and fast-rolling performance. Big shoulder blocks and a squared-off profile bite deep when railing corners. Lower-profile center knobs and the generous contact patch offer straight-line traction. It’s reinforced with beadto-bead protection against punctures and sidewall tears. $45; amclassic.com

Two innovative mountain bike products, deconstructed. Words JOE LINDSEY ANATOMY OF GEAR

Pivot’s newest shred sled pushes the boundaries of light weight and performance in an e-bike.

RANGE EXTENDER

The 430 Wh battery has enough juice for a hilly multihour ride; an optional 210 Wh external add-on is available.

FLYWEIGHT FLYER

Only 36.25 pounds in its lightest (and priciest) build, the Shuttle SL is relatively close to an unassisted mountain bike.

POWER TRIP

The mid-drive Fazua motor offers a peppy 60 Nm of torque in a smooth power band for a remarkably natural-feeling ride.

BUILT FOR SPEED

Pivot tuned the DW-Link suspension kinematics and geometry to work with an e-bike’s higher speed and power.

Starting at $8,300; pivotcycles.com PIVOT

SL

CUSTOM CONNECTION

The Fazua app offers detailed performance feedback to help you tune the bike’s motor response to match your preference.

REMOTE CONTROL

The throttle-like Ring Control lets you adjust assist level and mode intuitively without taking eyes off the trail.

SLICK SUSPENSION

With 132 mm of rearwheel travel and proven Fox front and rear suspension, the bike can go big on any trail.

RockShox’s newest trail fork is heavy on performance and versatility but not weight.

EASIER TUNING

The new Charger 3 system’s high- and low-speed compression damping is fully independent; adjust one without affecting the other.

FEEL WHAT MATTERS

ButterCups (rubber pucks at the base of the air spring) block highfrequency buzz that can cause fatigue and mess with trail feel.

SMOOTH STROKE

The DebonAir+ air spring’s floating piston creates fast small-bump response and generous midstroke support without an indistinct “marshmallow” feel.

FITS ALL SIZES

With options from 120 to 140 mm of travel, for 27.5-inch and 29-inch wheels, there’s a Pike for almost every bike.

DOWNHILL DEMON

The 35 mm chassis holds stout under the burliest of riders, fits up to a 220 mm brake rotor and is e-bike approved.

ESSENTIAL OIL

Maxima’s Plush Dynamic suspension lube is torturetested in the lab to stand up to the demands of the zestiest descent.

FRICTION FIGHTER

Extra-long bushings and SKF wiper seals keep the sliders moving freely for instant reaction to any impact.

THE RED BULLETIN WORLDWIDE

GLOBAL TEAM

Editor Andreas Kornhofer

Editor-in-Chief

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Copy Chiefs

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Head of Media Sales & Partnerships

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Head of Co Publishing Susanne Degn Pfleger

Editorial Director Alexander Müller-Macheck

Project Management Co-Publishing, B2B Marketing & Communication

The Red Bulletin is published in six countries. This month’s U.S. edition features two cover stars (both legends): Freeride mountain biker Brandon Semenuk and B-Boy Victor.

For more stories beyond the ordinary, go to redbulletin.com.

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BOOST YOUR CONTENT WITH THE SOUNDS OF RED BULL

YOU NEED MORE DRIVE, MORE PUNCH IN YOUR VIDEOS?

You want to stick out and energize your content like a pro? Using the right music in the right way does the trick! redbullsoundsupply.com gives you exclusive access to more than 4000 tracks from the same high-end music catalog that Red Bull uses every day in its genre-defning content.

Hip Hop, Rock, Electronica, Pop and more –Professional music licensing was never easier.

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Action highlight

One jump ahead

Matera, a town in southern Italy, is known as “the city of caves” because of the prehistoric dwellings carved out of its cliffs. Milan-based photographer Anna Rossini was there for Red Bull Art of Motion when she captured this shot of parkour legend Joe Scandrett, which won her a semifinal place in Red Bull Illume. “Before the start of the competition, all the athletes were out finding new challenges,” she says.

“I saw the beautiful spot and the challenge—how could I not shoot?”

Instagram: @rossini_anna_; redbullillume.com

The next issue of THE RED BULLETIN is out on December 20.

Go where you’re called. Road or not. The Sportage X-Pro.

The Kia Sportage X-Pro. It’s so good, it just might inspire you to do some good with it. With multi-terrain AWD mode that intuitively adapts to whatever surface you’re driving on, be it sand, snow, mud, and more. It’ll take you wherever you’re called.

Sportage X-Pro Prestige shown with optional features. Some features may vary. No system, no matter how advanced, can compensate for all driver error and/or driving conditions. Always drive safely.

FOR THOSE THAT RISE

FOR THOSE THAT RISE

The alarm bell rings. It would be so easy to bail. You could hit snooze, crawl back into the warmth of your bed and slip into another dream. But that fantasy ends as the aspiration of the morning’s reality slowly builds. Your feet touch the cold floor, and the ritual begins. Coffee brews, gear is packed, and you step into the darkness.

The alarm bell rings. It would be so easy to bail. You could hit snooze, crawl back into the warmth of your bed and slip into another dream. But that fantasy ends as the aspiration of the morning’s reality slowly builds. Your feet touch the cold floor, and the ritual begins. Coffee brews, gear is packed, and you step into the darkness.

The cold catches your breath. You slide into the skin track and the world comes alive. We all have rituals that define who we are. At Black Diamond, the Dawn Patrol is ours. To live is to rise.

The cold catches your breath. You slide into the skin track and the world comes alive. We all have rituals that define who we are. At Black Diamond, the Dawn Patrol is ours. To live is to rise.

SHOP THE DAWN PATROL COLLECTION AT BLACKDIAMONDEQUIPMENT.COM

Black Diamond Ambassador Turner Petersen Photo by Adam Clark

Black Diamond Ambassador Turner Petersen Photo by Adam Clark Black Diamond Athlete Mary McIntyre Photo by Garrett Grove

SHOP THE DAWN PATROL COLLECTION AT BLACKDIAMONDEQUIPMENT.COM

Black Diamond Ambassador Turner Petersen Photo by Adam Clark

Black Diamond Ambassador Turner Petersen Photo by Adam Clark