Spinning Wrenches at World Championships

Earlier this summer, I was doing my evening social media doom scroll when I stumbled across an interesting post; a Canadian Mountain biker named Henry Sherry had qualified for World Champs in Champéry, and was raising funds to support his trip. Henry and I had never met; our paths had never crossed. Having never followed local racing that closely, I really had no idea who he was. But a Canadian privateer at World Champs? That’s cool. So, I did what every millennial does and slid into his DMs, “Hey, man.” Awkward. A day later, Henry replied, “Hello.” Appropriate reciprocation of awkwardness. My second message on August 7th was a little long-winded but amounted to this: “I’ll be a course marshal at the Champéry WC…if you need a mechanic (even just someone to wash your bike!) I’d love to help you out.”

In the next few weeks, we sent fewer than 20 messages, not much communication, considering we had agreed that I would be his mechanic. At a World Championship Downhill Race. And we’d never even met.

I started to organize my tools, pored over the V10 service manual to make sure I had everything I needed, and even bought a bleed kit and mineral oil so I could service his Mavens. The cherry on top really came on August 31st, just 3 days before the event, when a friend and I found a Swiss military ammo crate from 1933 on the side of the road after a ride. “This is going to be the coolest toolbox ever,” I thought. I finished assembling that toolbox at 1 am on Thursday morning, just 4 hours before taking the train to Champéry.

After showing up on Thursday morning and checking in to my course marshal position and my accommodations (a shared dorm), I started to wander around the pits. Of course, I naturally gravitated to the Santa Cruz Syndicate tent. Professionally, because Henry was riding a V10 and I wanted to pick their brains about the bikes. Personally, because of their history – specifically, Greg Minnaar was a huge inspiration for me as a kid in the 2000s, when a South African racing at that level was the closest thing to “representation” I had (I was born in Cape Town). I spent most of Thursday bumming around the pits while Henry was practicing, checking out the events and the tents. It was a lot to take in; this was my first World Cup and I was stoked. I’ve been to Crankworx and several other events over the years, but this was the first real race and the vibe is different. Champéry is not a big town and there’s nothing to speak of in terms of nightlife or other activities, everyone was here for one thing: racing.

The other pit crew I needed to befriend at Cycling Canada. The Cycling Canada staff were super welcoming and easy to talk to. They definitely thought I was a weirdo at first, which is fair, I am. Who volunteers as a marshal and a mechanic? The same weirdo that moved from Vancouver to Zurich because of a mountain bike film segment he watched as a teenager, that’s who. They warmed up to me eventually. I really enjoyed watching them coach their racers. They were teaching them skills like how to interact with factory team staff, what parts of their bike were wearing out and why, and providing a calming person to chat with between race runs. It was before I even touched Henry’s bike that I realized I was underequipped to be a mechanic here. The bond between Mechanic and Rider is strong, and goes beyond the bike. There’s a lot of trust and bilateral mentorship. Riders know how to ride, mechanics know how to wrench, and bringing those two together on a world stage requires collaboration several levels above what I’d experienced before. The Cycling Canada mechanics are professionals who were there to support a half-dozen or so Junior athletes. They were as busy as they were excellent. Officially, Cycling Canada does not provide support to Elite athletes, including the two privateers who qualified this year (Henry Sherry and Jonathan Helly). Henry had his mom, Erin, as his main back stop. And for this weekend, he also had me.

Towards the end of practice on Thursday, I set up my stand and toolbox underneath the public gazebo, conveniently located just steps between the Syndicate and Cycling Canada pits. I walked over to the finish line and waited for Henry. When he ripped past, I chased him back to the Team Canada tent. And that is where Henry and I met for the first time.

Henry is 6’1.75” & 195 bs. He’s also very detail-oriented, so that 1/4in matters. A year ago, he was 212lbs, and he cut weight intentionally to improve his pace. Since then, he’s started doing interval sprints on his bike while commuting to the University of Victoria, where he studies Geography. His best time is 22 minutes over the 11.8km route. His diet’s also changed; he cut down on bread, rarely eats lunch due to his class schedule, and insists on six eggs a day. His height hides how muscular he is, a product of his commitment to training in the gym. Just before leaving for World Champs, he rebuilt his mother’s deck. He studied carpentry in his “gap year” between high school and university. Not most people’s version of a break. He’s playful and friendly; it did not take him long to start cracking jokes at me. Routine is clearly important to him as well. Everything in his pre-race routine, from his #longlivechainsaw wristband, to pre-race reading and Red Bull, to warm up, is dialled in. In that moment, he flips quickly between friend and focused competitor. When talking about his qualifying and practice runs, he acknowledges his successes but is very focused on where he can improve. As he puts it, “riding intentionally” is the best way to get better on a bike.

On Thursday evening, after practice, my tasks were pretty simple. The Champéry course is steep and deep, so we added 7.5mm of crown and stem spacers to maximize Henry’s stack. We swapped from carbon to aluminum wheels in a bid to get some extra compliance for traction. I was early on in earning Henry’s trust at this point, so he was watching me closely. As I said, he’s detail-oriented. Wrenching Henry’s bike was scary for two reasons. I’m a reasonably good mechanic, but I’d never worked at this level. I definitely leaned on Henry for advice, even as a non-mechanic, he knows that he needs to tighten the living hell out of his headset to keep it locked in. Working on bikes ridden at these speeds on these tracks is a different beast entirely. Parts can rattle loose in a single lap, no matter how tight you make them. The second fear trigger was that I didn’t know the condition of the bike. I was scared to do things like crack open the suspension pivots to clean them, for fear of what I would find. In the past, when I’ve worked on bikes for pro athletes, I’ve had the serial numbers for each component and exact measurements of their bearing bores, pivot hardware, and all the other details. I knew exactly what condition each bike was in, because days before the event, I’d either built it from scratch or stripped it and rebuilt it myself. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it is very much not my style. But in this case, pragmatism was the rule. At this point, I was questioning whether or not I was really useful at all. Henry knows how to install stem spacers and change a tire.

Henry’s Santa Cruz V10 frame is two years old. Some parts, like his wheels, are much newer as they are effectively a consumable at his speed and size. Other parts, like his fork, are much older. He’s had his Fox 40 since he was 15 years old. He’s upgraded the damper and replaced the crowns once, due to wear caused by his rack and regular shuttling at Prevost. He recently added an OChain, which he says has made a world of difference. Henry’s also really into the details on his bike; he has a Galfer rotor in the front because he prefers the bite, but finds it doesn’t manage heat as well as the SRAM rotor in the rear. His tire setup is mixed, too, with a Schwalbe Magic Mary Radial casing on the front, with a Continental Kryptotal in the rear. Tubeless, of course, but with a CushCore in the rear only. I was particularly proud of myself this weekend for completing some tire swaps with two simple Park Tool levers and a Topeak Joe Blow III pump in a wooden gazebo. Privateers get it done. His SRAM Maven brakes are from February 2024, and he considers getting three race weekends (9 days) of riding out of a bleed “good.” My personal favourite part of Henry’s bike is his mudguard, which he found on the side of the trail at Prevost.

There’s a range of pits at World Champs. Henry and I, with a toolbox and repair stand under a public gazebo, were pretty much at the bottom. Our spares were limited to basic consumables like derailleur hangers. A few of the European privateers had their own awnings – a luxury from my perspective. One German privateer was sponsored by his local pub, which included branded folding chairs. Gold. And then there are the pro teams. Trucks with espresso machines, heaters, chairs, and even helmet dryers. Infinite spares of everything imaginable. The top riders even get mid-season frame swaps, just because. Jackson Goldstone even had a custom-painted Fox 40 for photos and a prototype version for racing. Henry’s 40 is 5 seasons old.

Thankfully, the factory teams are also supportive of privateers. On Thursday night, as we chased down a source of play in Henry’s bike, DT Swiss was kind enough to swap out Henry’s front hub bearings for free. The anodized layer was polished off Henry’s axles. This 50 micrometre loss of material is much more than the allowable range on 20mm and 12mm front and rear axles. They were worn. When we showed Henry’s rear axle to the Syndicate, their response was “Holy F*%!” and they kindly gave us one that was in much better shape. Fox kindly upgraded our front axle with a much fresher one. Catching details like that started to earn me some of Henry’s trust.

In the process of scavenging parts, I spoke with several mechanics and was amazed to learn the tricks they had to use. Statements like “use Loctite instead of grease” and “yeah, we use a retaining compound to hold the headset in right before the mid-season frame swap,” were common. These bikes really do get ridden hard. After quite a bit of chasing gremlins, the play was solved. Thank you, factory teams & neutral support. Time to go home for the evening.

The next day (Friday), my priority was course marshalling (more on that here). After my shift Henry and I spoke, we were both tired and the bike had no issues so we elected to just go to bed.

Saturday had two sessions for Elites: morning practice and afternoon qualifying. Right before practice, Henry’s shifting was not working. To me, it looked like the hangar had been bent at some point, maybe on the car ride home the night before. Sitting on the gravel road on the way up to the chairlift, I was able to get his shifting working in a limited range. Enough to get him through practice. But, between practice and qualifying, I knew I had some work to do. I quickly went to set up my work station, asked the Syndicate for a shift cable and crimp, and waited. When Henry came down, I cleaned his bike and got to work. A quick check showed that the axle pinch bolts, crown bolts, cranks, and rear spokes had worked themselves loose. In 3 laps, Henry put more wear on his bike than I do in 3 months. He and I are the same weight, and I also ride a fair amount – but I take 3x the time to go down this track compared to Henry. I am much slower than him and it shows on our bikes. Chase, Jonathan Helly’s mechanic, had a sweet spoke tension-o-meter from his time at We Are One, which I used to triple-check Henry’s wheel. Normally, I believe in hand feel, but given the time and tools, going the extra mile in detail is worth it for a bike ridden like this. Bolts were cinched. I had 45 minutes to turn that around and get Henry on the lift for Qualifying. While I hustled in chaos, Henry listened to music, read, and relaxed.

While Henry was out on his bike, I got to spend more time chatting with his mom, Erin. She’s a biologist by training, but now she’s both Henry’s mom-ager and the manager of Nolan Riding – a guiding and coaching company on Southern Vancouver Island. Henry started riding with Nolan riding when he was 8, and now he guides for them. Erin considers herself very lucky to be able to support her son’s passion. Erin and Henry make a good team, too. They flip between banter of a close mother and son to serious race mode, where Henry is trying to get in the zone and Erin helps him get there with food and calm guidance. I look at their relationship and think “wow, I can’t imagine how many mothers wish their 20-year-old sons wanted to go to Europe with them.”

It was during this conversation that Erin pointed out that normally in these chaotic moments of broken derailleur hangers, or deciding which wheelset to run, Henry has to do the work himself or find someone to help him. He doesn’t always have the luxury of rest. I can’t imagine how tired your hands would be after changing tires with CushCores installed and then going race pace down the course at Champéry. Those are the decisions facing a true privateer. Optimize my bike or focus on racing. Factory riders get both. Over the last few days I’d slowly earned Henry’s trust. Instead of checking the details, he was focused on his part – getting into the zone – and letting me focus on mine – making the bike dialed. That moment felt really good.

Henry qualified 58th. He was through to the finals.

After qualifying, I gave his bike another check. The shifting had gotten worse again, and it was clear that the hanger had bent. The Syndicate came to the rescue again, kindly giving us a rear derailleur hanger, which solved that issue. Everything looked good to go for race day. Time to go to bed.

Sunday was a hectic day; I was course marshalling again, so I did not see Henry until after the race. Best believe I cheered him on as he ripped past. Henry finished 56th and beat his qualifying time on his race run.

I met up with Henry and Erin after the podium ceremony. They helped me grab my gear from my dorm, had a beer in the B&B, and went for dinner. Crèpes. At the B&B, Henry and I had a beer; he hadn’t had one all weekend as he was focused on the race, and I don’t really drink that often. But this was an occasion to celebrate. Henry was his typical curious, funny, and chatty self most of the time. Anytime we got to talking about the event, however, you could see his race mode turn back on. He’s a competitor and is chasing wins. While Erin and I were celebrating his achievement, he was talking us through where he felt he could improve. From line selection to training regimen to finding sponsorships for next season, the only reason Henry was thinking about the past was to learn from it. Henry’s not thinking about his relatively small budget or his lack of a covered pit area; he’s thinking about how he can get faster. No excuses. I’m stoked to see what he pulls off next season.

After dropping me off at the train station, they went back to their B&B to rest before going on a few days of mother-son hiking in the Alps to relax and recharge together.

I’d like to end with a deep, sincere thank you to Henry and Erin for letting me into their world in Champéry. There’s a lot of trust that goes into having a random guy from the internet show up and crank down your crown bolts at a career-defining event. I’ve built a lot of fancy bikes for a lot of great riders at a lot of cool events before, but World Championship Downhill has always evaded me. This experience really checked off a bucket list item for me, and for that, I’m extremely grateful. I sincerely hope our paths cross again.