Mike Hopkins at Red Bull Rampage
There is something about bathing in the sultry succulence of Canada's Fall weather. My fair skinned linage, surely rooted in some form of rich Scottish heritage is inherently ill designed for weathering the desert perils of the southern North American longitudes.
Over the week I watched as the barren, shrubbed, segmented mesa's of the Utah outback, morphed into something compatible with an "Indiana Jones" set. Like stone tree rings, the sedimentary layers carrying Earth's crusty history, laid home to more than tumble weeds and rattlesnake havens, it was given a pulse. Stimulating anxiety, dilating pupils and pores, the geological blemish that is the Rampage venue, was brought teeming to life.