From ‘punk’ to adventure athlete
Slopestyle pioneer turned mountain biking into a career that takes him around the world
“Show up or you’re fired!” It was the usual ultimatum cast at employees whose personal life bled over to the work hours. Rebellious youth pitted against stodgy old men, that whole bit.
That 20-something Darren Berrecloth decided to bail on his Friday shift, part of his work placement with BCIT. The next week, his school counsellor pulled him aside for a stern talk.
“It was kind of funny,” said the 37-year-old Parksville native. “This geeky looking dude drags me into his office, shuts the door and says, ‘Listen. You’ve got to quit this ridiculous, childish bike thing, and wake up and smell the coffee. This is real life. You need to forget this crap.’”
It was, said the legendary mountain bike pioneer, a turning point in his life. He missed that Friday afternoon shift for a good reason: one of Whistler’s first Joyride slopestyle contests.
The hardest part of reaching his decision wasn’t what his boss or teacher would think, but rather his grandfather — the man who had taught him to be a machinist for a decade, paid for his tuition, and gifted him all of his special tools.
“That was the hardest part, trying to explain to him that I wasn’t (messing) up my life by dropping this career,” said Berrecloth. “He straight up had no clue I had the ability to make money riding my bike.
“To be honest, he didn’t even talk to me for quite a few months. It wasn’t until I brought in my first cheque for $5,000 or $6,000, and was like ‘Hey, this is from biking. … I’m telling you, I’m going to make money riding my bike.’
“And for him, that was the acceptance. We were friends again, because we were really close before that.”
Berrecloth was at the first Crankworx 15 years ago, where he placed second in the mountain bike slopestyle event. He’s seen the event grow from a few dirt jumps to the massive, world-class phenomenon it is now.
The 19-day festival Whistler festival, which started Friday and runs until Aug. 19, will see 12 different events featuring more than 1,100 competitors, as well as seemingly endless concerts and film releases.
As much as the event has grown — it’s spawned two more sister events in France and New Zealand — Berrecloth still sees the same friendly community that was there at the start.
“There’s no better venue or atmosphere. It’s a spectacle,” he said. “I feel quite fortunate to have been able to have been there for all those years, especially in the beginning years, when it was all so fun and new. The slopestyle scene, we were just a bunch of punk kids.
“But at the core level, it’s down-to-earth people there to ride bikes and have fun. I mean, at the end of the day, we wear spandex. We’re not trying to compete with each other to be cool, we’re out there riding bikes.”
Berrecloth reminisces about those early days with fondness. He’s said before how, as a young boy with too much time on his hands and too many bad influences, it saved his life. But it also could so easily have been the thing that took it.
He’s crashed so many times, broken so many bones, torn so many ligaments and had so many surgeries, he’s lost count. That’s not uncommon in the world of slopestyle — or extreme sports as a whole — but those outside of the sport can’t fathom why they risk it, nor how they manage the fear of flirting with death.
“I’ve been doing this a long time. I remember when I first started BMX racing and mountain bike racing when I was young kid. I was scared s---less every freaking time. And that took years to get rid of,” he said.
“I think with most athletes, it’s about channelling (fear) into positive energy and knowing what to do with it. The people who get crippled by fear are the ones who don’t know how to use it.
“If you don’t have any fear when you’re doing something nuts, then, that’s when you should be scared. Because that’s when (stuff) goes wrong.”
Fear is also the subject of his latest project, Reverence. Berrecloth and his brother started a production company, and their first film is centred on how mountain bikers break through the fear to attain their goals.
As he’s aged, and stopped being the competition beast he once was, Berrecloth has graduated into a new line of work, as an adventure athlete.
“I’m not able to take the beats like I used to,” he said with a laugh.
There is great reward for those who make it to the highest echelons of the sport. The college dropout now lives in a huge house, a 3,000-squarefoot rancher on the water on Vancouver Island. The garage is full of toys, from Polaris RZRs to Husqvarna snowbikes.
He has a 32-foot fishing boat with twin 200-hp Evinrudes. He’s made well into six figures annually, an income that might not have happened had he stayed with his BCIT work placement.
And he’s doing what he loves, while travelling the world.
“That’s the great thing about mountain biking,” said Berrecloth, who is married and has a two-year-old daughter. “Your career can take you from being a slopestyle, Rampage guy, to all of a sudden, now I’m adventure travel guy.”
If you don’t have any fear when you’re doing something nuts, then, that’s when you should be scared.” Darren Berrecloth