Recounting Team Nordica's road to victory; 2014 Road Trip Challenge

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The Return of Road Trip Challenge

Based on Thrasher’s popular King of the Road series, FREESKIER’s Road Trip Challenge debuted in 2007. That summer, many of you followed along with the video series that showcased two weeks’ worth of shenanigans all across New England, with Team Völkl’s Scott Hibbert and Ahmet Dadali battling Michael Clarke and Andrew Hathaway of Team Salomon. The basic premise being: complete challenges, earn points, acquire the ultimate bragging rights.

Those web edits are the best. I love to watch ’em time and again. The content is absolutely hilarious, and the skiing is top-notch. The RTC of ’07 is also dear to my heart—I hold fond memories of tagging along for the ride as Hath and Clarke were among my closest friends at the time. We were all involved with a freeride program at Waterville Valley, NH, then.

I recall jibbing dumpsters, jumping over cars, bagging double-kink rails in the streets (at the time, a feat in itself) and so much more. My best buds were going to be featured in FREESKIER magazine—a multi-page story, no less. There was a huge coolness factor involved with the whole thing.

Yet, among all the ups, there were downs. I won’t soon forget an incident that occurred at Okemo Mountain Resort, March 16, 2007, during a training session for the Fischer Super Slopestyle Open, where big points were on the line.

Hathaway hooked an edge on a sticky down rail, ultimately whacking his head on the rock-hard ice and suffering a traumatic brain injury. He was airlifted to Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center, just minutes from his home in Norwich, VT. We spent a number of tense days in the waiting room before Andy was finally released after surgery—he had the same shit-eating grin on his face, as always.

Despite the setback, the RTC rolled on. Clarke actually went on to take third in that contest, while one Willis Brown served as Hathaway’s substitute. Team Völkl would eventually earn the win, and the RTC was inked into freeskiing’s history book as one of the all-time road trips.

Alas, hard drives went missing, along with much of the priceless film footage. The web series never aired in full, and combined with the Hathaway scare, the blunders were enough to put the kibosh on all future editions of the Road Trip Challenge.

Until now.

From the moment I came on board full time at FREESKIER, the return of Road Trip Challenge was oft on my mind. That adventure of ’07 was just too damn fun—we had to bring it back. It took a fair amount of lobbying on the part of the edit staff, and by February 2014, the stars had aligned. Team K2 had signed on, as did Team Nordica. I could taste it. Once again, New England would be the stomping grounds. The hair now raising on the back of my neck. And from there, it was down to the finer details.

Of three things we were certain: we’d arrive in Boston on a Tuesday, we’d rent RVs and we’d depart the following Monday. On second thought, that third point was never a given. No telling where the road would carry us or bury us. Arrangements, plans and team members shuffled right up to the last minute—and I mean minute. With the flip of a coin, though, in the back of an RV parked in Cambridge, MA, it was game on.

The Players

Representing Team Nordica: skiers Ian Compton, Kieran McVeigh and Dale Talkington, along with cinematographer/Nordica team manager Evan Williams, photographer Peter Cirilli and yours truly.

Representing Team K2: skiers Maks Gorham, Sean Jordan and Clayton Vila, along with cinematographer Kyle Decker, photographer Christopher “Topher” Baldwin and FREESKIER managing editor, Damian Quigley.

The Rules

The rules were simple. Keeping with the theme of the original RTC, each team would be given a packet of challenges; the tasks included skiing stunts of all shapes and sizes, plus off-hill antics. Challengers would travel around New England via motor home, with the goal of completing as many challenges as possible, each goal corresponding with a certain point value. Whoever racked up the most points in the allotted time period won. Eternal glory, plus an invitation to defend the title during next year’s showdown, was the prize. Pending, of course, we don’t take another six-year hiatus.

Would we remain injury free? Would the RVs be returned in one piece? Dive in; enjoy our accounts of the 2014 Road Trip Challenge.

Team Nordica: Road to the Top

The coin flip is a great moment. Both teams—11 of us—are packed into the RV surrounded by cameras. Moments earlier, we’d presented the list of challenges to the skiers. “The skiing shit is boring. Show me to the real stuff,” someone mutters, wanting to see the off-hill challenges. After strenuous planning and anxious moments in the final hour, it’s a relief to see smiles upon the competitors’ faces as they mull over the plethora of tasks. Some of the guys put hands on top of their heads in classic “WTF?!” fashion as they lay eyes on some of the more obscene potentials. In this moment, all of the worries and the uncertainty fades. This thing is really happening.

I have no preference as to which side I end up on. Team K2, I figure, is chock full of talent, rowdy and streetwise at the same time. There would be no shortage of madness with those hooligans. Nordica, on the other hand, has been preparing for weeks, exchanging group emails to build hype and talk strategy. The positivity is tangible. Both teams will feature numerous New England natives—me and Quigley included—so there’s no real advantage for either squad in terms of knowing the lay of the land.

There isn’t much time to worry about it anyhow. Damian flips. Heads up. “I’m Nordica!” And the shit-talk begins. This is war.

Outside the Hilton DoubleTree in Cambridge, the RVs are parked side by each. It’s dusk, and the Boston skyline begins to twinkle against a darkening sky. The teams are split up now. We’re making gestures at one another through the side windows. Hangin’ in the “living room,” I soak it in—our new home.

A few of these faces are familiar. I’ve known Williams and Talkington for some time. Cirilli, I’ve just met. Compton, I’ve followed via his former days with Line Traveling Circus and also his own web series, The Weak. This is our first meeting, though. McVeigh is not yet with us. He’d arrive the next day.

And so, we are five. Our first order of business is to activate the Verizon flip phone I’d brought along. This trip wouldn’t be complete without some live interaction with ski fans in the East and beyond. It takes but a few minutes. Next, Compton pencils a message on a piece of paper, snaps a photo and ’grams ’er up. “CaLL uS (603) 892-8930. Anytime. Hot Gossip.”

Approximately 10 seconds later, the first call comes in. Moments later, call waiting. Then again. And again. Within minutes, we receive 100 calls. I know this longhaired Vermonter has a cult following, but this is unreal.

Callers ask, “Is this Ian Compton?” Some phone to tell him he’s ugly and has big teeth. He resents the nickname “Chompton.” Others, girls, call to make offers of unspeakable actions. Many call, panic, and hang up before uttering a single word. We hear from folks all along the Eastern seaboard, from the Midwest, and abroad—Norway, China.

Meanwhile, I peer into K2’s van. They’re piercing Gorham’s ear. That counts for points. Fielding phone calls, on the other hand, does not. The clock is ticking. We hit the road.

Video Playlist (7 Videos): Watch the 2014 Road Trip Challenge unfold

We spend the night in the Bean. Come morning, I find myself navigating the 30-foot RV through narrow city streets. I’m pretty sure the only things keeping folks from exiting their cars and bashing in my windshield are the Boston Bruins flags hanging from either side of the vehicle. Everyone respects the spoked-B.

I can’t possibly understate the total cluster that I cause while trying to enter the Sumner Tunnel via a row of tollbooths. I’m about to pass through as a woman comes running frantically with both hands waving in the air. I roll down my window. “The Aah’V can’t come though,” she yells with a heavy Boston accent, “Propane ain’t allowed in the tunnel!”

Taken aback at first, I realize I’m safe. The motorhome is winterized. I explain, “The propane tanks are empty.”

“Don’t mattah! You need to clee’ah that with the State Police befo’ah you can come through!”

“Where’s that?”

“Ov’ah the’ah!” she says, and points to the far side of the tolls, I don’t even know how many lanes wide. And it’s f#cking rush hour. I panic.

The woman offers no other solution, so I pop ’er into reverse. Cars flood past on either side, horns blaring. I inch backwards. Minutes later—and I’m not quite sure how, as my panic state lends itself to a completely blurred reality—a number of individuals stop the entire flow of traffic, allowing me to back away from the booth and swing right, where I make my way across, perpendicular to the traffic, all the way to freedom. What a relief. Now I’m simply embarrassed to be flying the Bruins colors. I’ve likely just tarnished the Black and Yellow.

Meantime, I’ve got other worries. We bagged just a few hundred measly points the previous night by mailing postcards to T-Swift and Miley, McVeigh hasn’t arrived yet, and all I can think about is how we’re falling behind. K2 is out there crushing life, and I’m driving circle jerks around town. Great.

In time, we collect McVeigh from the Logan Airport and head north. There’s a massive storm brewin’, and we’ve got our sights set on Burlington, VT. We’re keen to arrive before the heavy stuff flies. But we fail in this regard. The would-be 3 1⁄2-hour drive takes us approximately 11 hours. The RV isn’t exactly built for speed, nor is it equipped for winter driving conditions. Also, given the trouble we went through to bring the RTC back to life, the last thing I want to do is ring the office on the first full day of the trip to report a totaled RV and multiple injuries.

We make good use of our time, though. As I white-knuckle my way up the highway, the boys set to work. We kick off the 100-hot dog challenge, and we choreograph a dance to Miley’s “We Can’t Stop.” McVeigh volunteers for the push-ups challenge, and he also takes down a pint of maple syrup—at least for a minute. Puking always feels better when you earn precious points out of the deal.

All the while, the burner phone is ringing off the hook. Some call to tell us we’re huge losers. One girl wanted to know, “You guys ‘trynta’?” i.e., trynta f#ck? One dubs the RV “Susie.” The name sticks. Others call to let Compton know that he’s a hero—a true inspiration. “I’m your biggest fan, I can’t believe I’m talking to you,” says one. These latter moments are quite special, actually. But, sap story aside, the K2 crew is also firing text messages our way, claiming huge points and the ultimate win. Where are they? They say they’re at Sunday River eating lobster dinner. Are they lying? Have they all gotten tattoos already? These questions weigh heavily on my mind as we roll into Burlington. This is the biggest snowstorm of the year.

Burlington is hilly. The RV is a heavy beast, and I’m worried that we’ll go sliding uncontrollably into cross traffic or a brick wall. We arrive at the waterfront unscathed, park and gear up. The snow is nuking and the wind is howling—we’re talking full on nor’easter. The city is deserted, aside from the occasional car or passerby. Fine by us. We’ll chase points below the radar.

It’s dark. Three skiers roam the streets, one rocking snow blades. The boys dink around on ledges and stair sets, genuinely enjoying the moment. It’s not every day you get to jib City Hall or ski down the middle of a typically bustling Church Street. We stumble upon a news reporter, and the guy is keen to document our strange behavior. Such luck! An appearance on the news is among the endless list of challenges. Compton agrees to an interview.

Next, we enter Town Center Mall—uninhabited this evening—and check “Ski down an escalator” off the list. Then, we devour a few more (hot) dogs at the Church Street Tavern while enjoying a Bruins vs. Montréal Canadiens showdown. They’re playing at Centre Bell, not far from Burlington. Habs suck. I also pierce my ear there, much to the dismay of our server.

We catch a good laugh when we return to Williams’ apartment, where we watch a group of “extreme skiers” on the 10 o’clock news, shredding treacherous “mounds” of snow downtown. It’s a great ending to a long day. We pack it in for the night, eager to get back on the train first thing in the morning.

Daylight. I’m lying on a deflated air mattress in the middle of Williams’ kitchen. I’m wondering if the others are awake when McVeigh pipes up, “Anyone know where we can get some points for breakfast?”

Compton replies, “I’m going to call my girlfriend and ask her if she’d mind if I shaved my eyebrows.”

Next thing I know, we’re buzzing each other’s heads at the kitchen table. Mohawks are easy points. Then, we make moves. To Dunkin’ Donuts.

Talkington strolls into the joint in full ski gear, skis on his feet, and orders breakfast—cool, calm, collected. Points. The store employees don’t even realize what’s just transpired until we exit. Outside, a group of fans recognize the RV and stroll over to dish daps and high fives.

Next stop: the Event Horizon tattoo parlor. Although closed on account of the storm, Compton’s pal Jason is one of the artists and agrees to open shop for us. Despite my best efforts to encourage all team members to get inked up, it is only me, Cirilli and Compton who jump into the hot seat. I receive an extension to my pre-existing tattoo, mid-thigh, a tribute to the best-looking man I know, Brian Schroy. Cirilli dives in on his first tat. It’s a small mountainscape on his shoulder. Compton earns max points, receiving a “pizza skateboard” on his forearm and FREESKIER’s snowflake logo on the shoulder. While this should be regarded a massive plus one for Team Nordica, I cannot shake the feeling that all of Team K2 is currently sporting new ink. Vila, Gorham, Jordan—they’re the YOLO type. How could they not have new tats? I fear we’re still down in the points race.

However, the remainder of the day is an absolute blast and productive at that. We stumble upon and jib a backyard setup; we join youngsters for a mini-booter session at Callahan Park, complete with backflips galore; we jib Burlington High School’s famed quad kink; we complete RV tow-ins to both a jump and a rail; we organize a party at a stranger’s house, courtesy of Paolo, president of the UVM Ski & Snowboard Club (Thank you, boss!); and plenty more.

We’re trucking right along. Then, shit hits the fan.

It’s my expectation that the group will overnight at Paolo’s house. That’s a certified challenge. Heck, we’re all here. Leaving now would be like throwing points right out the window. But that’s exactly what happens.

Compton, Williams and Cirilli make for their own nests, where respective girlfriends and warm, giggly snuggle sessions await. Talkington, McVeigh and I don’t take kindly to this move. I get it, but come on guys! Fueled by alcohol consumed during many games of flip cup (which we never managed to win, I might add—another lost points opportunity) Talkington threatens to jump ship. He mentions something about a big-air contest in Spain and starts making next-day travel arrangements on the spot. Ever so gently, I talk him off the ledge. There’s nothing warm and giggly about this atmosphere.

Come morning, it’s the Three Musketeers who awake in this humble, oh-so-college abode. While we’d forgone points, we make up for lost ground as best we can. Of the eight bedrooms in the pad, we invade the uppermost room, whose customary inhabitant is conveniently away on vacation. Task: “Rearrange the furniture in a stranger’s house.” Hung over, bitter, we check it off the list. Points.

We overhear a group of guys talking in a nearby room. They’re discussing Talkington’s CoLab victory, complete with its $100,000 prize. One individual comments, “It’s so sick cause like, he’s rich, and he’s cool.”

Late morning, as the six of us come together, we’re divided. There’s some finger pointing and a bit of name calling, but over bagels and coffee the team makes its amends. Each of us declares a commitment to push hard until the final horn sounds. Today, we’re going to “The Bush.” It’s day three, and we haven’t hit up an actual ski resort yet. To the tune of Backstreet we speed south. The chatter in the camper revolves mostly around poop. Many of us are now feeling the effects of a multi-hot-dog-per-day diet. We’ve wolfed down 43 dogs as a team, thus far. One hundred suddenly seems a long way off.

It feels great to finally ascend a chairlift. Sugarbush has an assortment of fun-sized jibs and jumps, and we’re quick to get after the on-hill ski challenges.

The park isn’t quite restored to its top form following the three-foot dump of snow, but it’s plenty to keep us happy, despite some nasty wind. Compton puts on a show with the blades again, while Talkington ups the tech game and McVeigh slides around like his steezy ol’ self. We erect a “penis feature.” Points. Content, we call it a day.

Tonight, we’ve got a bowling date with K2, just outside of Burlington. This is a pre-arranged showdown, with massive points on the line. We’re feeling good, as all but one of us (McVeigh) had bowled previously in the week.

We come, we bowl, we lose. I can’t bear to think about the amount of points that slips through our fingers. “Karen” bowls zeros through his two final frames, giving K2 the edge. And to make matters worse, K2 breaks into our RV in the parking lot—by means of an unlocked window—leaving messages in mustard and filling ski boots with beer. We’d been had.

With our tails between our legs, we saddle up and make for Ludlow, VT, where Williams’ parents own a home, and comfortable beds await. (Thank you, Laurie and Bob, for everything.)

When I wake, McVeigh is talking about points. I quickly realize he’s still asleep. The kid’s sleep talking about completing challenges! “Guys, we can drop in and ski straight from the top to the bottom and that’ll be points,” he mumbles.

To Okemo Mountain Resort we go, and instantly we’re pleased. “This is one of the best parks I’ve seen,” says Talkington. The stoke shows in his riding. It takes just a few laps before I’m reminded of just how talented “Daryl” really is. He’s checking off points left and right: 630 on; 4 on, pretz 2 out; 1080 on snowblades; and more.

I’m equally impressed with Compton and McVeigh. “Ann” has a consistency about his skiing that’s tough to match, and “McSlay” has an incredibly unique approach to the park and to natural features all over the hill. In addition to seeing things differently, he skis with a fluidity and grace that blows me away.

We have a surprise up our sleeve today, as well. Namely, a guest appearance by none other than Michael Clarke himself. It takes just one phone call to convince the original RTC star to drive up from his current home of New York City. On the one hand, it’s exciting to bring the Road Trip Challenge full circle. On the other, selfishly, we acquire bonus points for getting a former RTC competitor to complete one of our challenges. Within hours, Clarke completes a total of three. He skis a top-to-bottom run switch, he performs 20 worm turns in a single run, and he also sprays 10 snowboarders. We love you, Clarke.

That day alone, we devour nearly 40 hot dogs as a team. Nine for me. We’re now approaching the 100 mark. Back at the Williams’ place, Talkington 720s over the RV. A sled tows him into a lofty backyard booter, complete with an ultra-flat landing. He champs up and stomps a handful of ’em until Cirilli has a shot he’s happy with. It’s my favorite photo from the trip.

We spend a second day at Okemo. Points, points, points. Then, we head south, Wachusett Mountain our destination.

We overnight in the parking lot, and we’re up early. It’s Saint Patrick’s Day. The highly acclaimed 107.3 WAAF is hosting its morning show from the Wachusett base lodge, and we’re going to try our luck at plugging RTC to the masses. It takes some doing, but we succeed. Compton and I join the group to discuss our mission—we talk mostly about weed and girls in bikinis.

Later, we hit the tah’rrain pa’hk. We’re amped. The lap time is super fast, and the features are on point. We meet another set of stoked shredders. I’m loving the camaraderie. People are stoked on RTC. We ski for a few hours, then pull the plug.

It’s a bittersweet moment as we’re marching back to the RV. It’s been a long week, and the quest for points has driven us to the brink. I’m ready to bounce, yet I’ve had such a blast getting to know this crew. Such characters. I’d be happy to stay.

But wait, what the hell?! That’s K2’s RV parked right next to ours. My stomach drops.

As we approach, the motley bunch spills out of their own side door along with a waterfall of empty beer cans. It seems they’ve just arrived. Phew. They appear genuinely upset, too. “You guys are definitely going to win,” says Decker.

I don’t fall for this reverse psychology. I’m certain they have tattoos—all of them. The rest of Team Nordica isn’t so sure. Williams in particular thinks we have it in the bag.

In a last ditch effort, those of us with mohawks dye them pink. Easy points. We also put down our 100th hot dog. Like so many others, it’s prepared in the microwave. Delicious.

The proverbial whistle blows. This shit show is over. Both teams mingle in the Wachusett parking lot, sharing tidbits of our respective experiences, yet still maintaining a level of secrecy. We have to wait until August to discover who bested who.

Fast forward. It’s now mid-August. No more secrets. The finishing touches are being placed on the web edits. No hard drives are lost (yet). And soon, the world will watch the Road Trip Challenge unfold from the comfort of their living rooms, at the office (NSFW!), or perhaps at the back of a classroom.

After reviewing the footage, I’m most blown away by the sheer amount of stuff that went down between both teams—more than could possibly fit in the Adobe Premiere timeline or on these pages. Much of the greatness lives on only in the minds of those who partook in the mayhem or those who witnessed first hand.

And the great news is that I get to do it all over again. After all of that worrying, I’m jazzed to discover that Williams is right, after all. Team Nordica smoked ‘em. Absolute destruction. What’s up now, bitches?!

Note: This article appears in FREESKIER magazine Volume 17.2. The issue is now available via iTunes Newsstand. Subscribe to FREESKIER magazine.