IDEAS AND ADVENTURE

FREEDOM

my life in the Red Bull Rampage

By Ben Curtis

Ben (Me!) Hitting A-Line//Whistler, BC

On my bike is where I feel alive. I relish it. I crave it. I obsess about it. Once that front wheel leaves the ground and the adrenaline kicks in, it's all in the balancing, just like life itself. Feeling the pull of gravity, going beyond it, and getting that jolt of nervous energy, I panic and feather the brakes. No wheelie lasts forever, though, it sure feels like it could or at least that you wish it could. Some of us have a compulsion to ride, to embrace the air, explore the unknown, and take the trail that no one else has taken. That’s just the way it goes, like some mutant gene that skips a generation. I vividly remember the first extreme mountain biking film I watched, and boy, was 9-year-old me gripped. I would try to emulate the riders, be the coolest kid, skid madly and jump curbs. I wasn't that good, but I was having fun. What's important is that these films fueled my imagination. I was captivated, but I had no idea why.

Films that showcase athletes taking on massive challenges and performing at their highest level are just terrific. Despite the inconceivable gap between the viewer and the athlete, the medium of film brings the two as close together as possible. Suddenly, fear and adrenaline are mutual if not shared experiences. The Red Bull Rampage, an annual mountain biking race in the Utah desert, is unlike any traditional sports events. Its aesthetic appeal is profoundly influenced by its choice of location—the arid and rugged expanse of the Utah desert, characterized by mesmerizing red rock formations and expansive vistas. Filmmakers take advantage of this natural canvas to produce mind-boggling shots that not only encapsulate the riders' daring descents, but also emphasize the formidable challenges posed by the unforgiving terrain.

Ben (Me!) hitting A-Line//Santa Cruz, CA

The way Red Bull Media creates these films allows you to access raw experience and feel the possibilities of life at the extremes. Slow motion, one of the oldest tricks in the book, is crucial to the aesthetic. Suddenly, your sense of perception slows and you gain access to the mostly unseen details of riding down a crazy trail at crazy speeds. You can hear the sound of the wheels rolling over freshly dampened dirt, the cassette splines clicking away, the gears shifting, and watch the dirt flying off the tires behind the riders.

The same strange phenomenon that frequently occurs during or after an accident applies. There is a heightened sense of awareness, your mind is lightning quick, entire stories seem to race through your mind, memories come back in vivid detail. We remember the sound of the bone that broke years before, the way your sense of control slipped, how the  asphalt scraped your skin away, every millimeter of it. In watching these films, we become hyper-focused and like riding, we start to become one with the experience. It’s a clear example of form and content coming together.

Jaxson Riddle goes downhill!

The directors of these Red Bull films use a diverse array of camera angles, ranging from aerial perspectives to point-of-view shots affixed to the riders' helmets to not just record the experience, but to also bring us into it. Ground-level shots are strategically utilized to provide viewers with an immersive experience, allowing them to appreciate the intricacies of the riders' maneuvers against the backdrop of the Utah landscape. The dynamic combination of these techniques conveys the intensity of the competition while also highlighting the intrinsic beauty of the red rock surroundings. This is a common technique of these movies, to move you back and forth between macro visions of beauty and micro visions of intense competition. Usually, we reconcile those two modes of perception, but the Red Bull films break them apart to make us more aware of our place in the world.

The calculated orchestration of slow-motion and high-speed shots further enriches the visual narrative of the race. Slow-motion sequences accentuate pivotal moments during the riders' descents, and emphasize the intricacies of their gravity-defying stunts. Simultaneously, high-speed shots effectively convey the breakneck pace of the competition, making us feel that nothing matters but winning, or surviving. This cinematographic balance not only contributes to the overall excitement, but also communicates the skill and prowess exhibited by top-level athletes risking their lives for competition.

What’s interesting is that despite all these intense visuals, there is always narration in various forms: interviews with riders, behind-the-scenes commentary, and good old fashioned human-interest stories. Listen to this guy, Szymon Dodzeik, in a pre-competition interview and you get a sense of what the films are trying to catch:

I can take soil because I know that I have prepared my body well in training, I'm happy, but at the same time, I want to get it over with… I'm ready to fight.

Godzeik’s awareness of the danger and consequences of what he’s doing, that it’s as much a competition of the mind as it is the body, catches the spirit of the race and of riding. The riders have the attitude of warriors going into battle. Crashing is not a case of if, but when.

It's a beautiful piece of conceptual art

In many ways the most incredible piece of artistry, what causes a man to talk like this is the course itself—a meticulously designed terrain that serves as a canvas for the riders' expressive prowess. It’s an amalgamation of natural features and engineered obstacles that allows the riders to respond to the race in an almost artistic fashion. Massive jumps and technical descents become the medium through which riders articulate their distinctive styles and skills. It is as if the course is an instrument that each rider plays in a different way.

Look at the beautiful bike!

Of course, that artistry extends to the bikes. Frequently adorned with personal trinkets and a coat of hand-painted graphics, these bikes are one of a kind. They not only tell stories about their riders, they also become an extension of them. For films that take place in nature, they are also a celebration of the engineering that allows someone to launch themselves over 70 ft canyons… and return safely to earth. You might ask yourself how many levels of macho and beauty are there in the average Red Bull event. We might never know, but what we do know is that these films document more than races. They are about living the wildest life you can and having the means to recreate it in art. I know these Red Bull have shaped my life and identity. I built trails, made friends, conquered fears, got scars, and forged an unbreakable bond with bikes. And that counts for a rare but exhilarating kind of freedom.

©Ben Curtis and the CCA Arts Review