Dope Runners

One day not long ago, above a tumbledown gold mining camp at the upper headwaters of the Feather River, a contest was underway. Two contenders— the last men standing in a field of 16—maneuvered to the starting line at the top of the slope. Organizers used red Jell-O to draw a line in the snow, which had become smudged in the sun-warmed slush.

Each man was affixed by means of lace-up leather bindings to a pair of titanic wooden skis more than 10 feet long. The skis were four and a half inches wide underfoot and waxed to run fast with arcane concoctions of what race prep crews called “dope.” Considerable quantities of skill, labor, whiskey, and other encouragements were required simply to get to the starting line, let alone the final round. There, the skiers pointed straight downhill, toes on the red line, a single stout pole staving off the inevitable pull of gravity.

In the outside lane was the Swede, Thomas Lundin. Lundin had traveled over Beckwourth Pass from Reno with his mentor, two-time World Longboard Champion Eric McGrath. Lundin took second the previous year, after McGrath, and this year he wanted the belt. On the inside was the young upstart and local favorite, Max Breedlove. Breedlove owned a handyman business down the hill. He’d learned to ski right on this very slope at California’s Johnsville Ski Bowl in the days—not long ago—when the Poma lift was still running. “I think Max is gonna do it,” confided Phil Gallagher, co-founder of the Plumas