VNTRbirds Rip Roaring Mini Enduro

Words: Leanne Wren // Photos: Curtis Devore & Mariana Hosbach  

The idea for the Rip Roaring Mini Enduro started with a question that, in retrospect, probably should have been followed by a little more consideration: what if we just put on our own race? 

We had been around mountain bike racing long enough to know that women wanted to race. We also knew that racing can feel intimidating when you’re new to it. There’s the pressure of categories and start lines and timing chips and knowing exactly how fast you’re supposed to be going. There’s also the simple fact that most of us had spent years riding bikes with our friends, not racing them. 

VNTRbirds has always lived somewhere in that space between pushing yourself and having a really good time. We wanted a race that felt like an extension of that. 

So we created one. 

The first Rip Roaring was small. Fewer than 50 racers showed up, and we had no idea if we were building something people would actually want to come back to. There was a lot to figure out as we went. We learned what needed to happen before race day, what could wait until race day, and what absolutely could not wait until race day. We learned that a mountain bike race has approximately 1,000 moving parts and that doesn’t include all the individual racers. 

Every year since, we’ve gotten a little better at it. 

That doesn’t mean it gets easier. 

By the time race week rolls around, there is the venue and insurance, course planning, trail work, timing, registration, volunteers, photographers, sponsors, signage, safety plans, radios, weather, and a seemingly endless list of small things that have to happen in exactly the right order. Then there’s the mountain itself, which has very little interest in your carefully constructed schedule. 

This year was no different. 

There were still plenty of moments when we looked at each other and wondered how we were going to make everything happen. But there is something satisfying about that kind of chaos. You make a plan, something changes, you figure it out, and eventually the pieces start falling into place. 

Then suddenly it’s Sunday morning. 

The parking lot starts filling up. Bikes come off cars. Friends find each other. Someone is nervous about their first race. Someone else is talking about a section of trail they’re determined to clean. Volunteers start moving people where they need to go. The timing crew gets set up. Racers pin on name plates and make last-minute adjustments to their bikes. 

And then everyone goes up the mountain. 

That’s when it starts to feel real. 

This year, 100 women + non-binary racers lined up to take on Rip Roaring. We had racers who had never entered an enduro before alongside riders who have been racing for years. Some came to compete. Some came because their friends convinced them to sign up. Some probably weren’t entirely sure what they had gotten themselves into. 

That mix is one of our favorite things about the event. 

We created three categories: Leisurely, Sporty, and Spicy because we wanted people to be able to choose their own version of the day. You could race hard. You could race with your friends. You could try something completely new. There was room for all of it. 

And then the racing started. 

There’s a particular kind of energy that comes with watching someone disappear down a trail after spending months talking about how nervous they are to race. You watch them drop in, and then a few minutes later they come flying across the finish line grinning, laughing, or yelling about the section that nearly took them out. 

Those are the moments we remember. 

Not necessarily who had the fastest time, although we love that part too. It’s watching someone realize they’re capable of more than they thought they were. It’s seeing women cheer for competitors they met five minutes earlier. It’s the conversations at the bottom of the lift. The high fives. The post-race debriefs. The inevitable stories that start with, “Okay, so I almost died…” 

That’s what we hoped Rip Roaring would become. 

The race itself is only part of it. 

A big part of making something like this possible is having partners who understand what we’re trying to build. Our partnership with Yeti Cycles has been an important part of Rip Roaring because their support allows us to put resources toward creating a better experience for the racers and continuing to grow the event. 

And racing is in Yeti’s DNA, so there’s a natural connection. More importantly, it feels like a partnership around a shared belief: that mountain biking is better when more people feel like they belong in it. 

For us, that means creating opportunities for women and femme riders to race, even if they’ve never thought of themselves as racers before. It means making the first race less intimidating. It means building community around competition rather than treating those things as opposites. 

It also means continuing to ask what we can do better. 

Because Rip Roaring is still very much a work in progress. 

We’re learning every year. We’re experimenting. We’re changing things. Some ideas work. Some don’t. Some things look great on paper and turn into a complete logistical nightmare once you put them on a mountain. 

That’s part of building something. 

The first year, fewer than 50 racers showed up. This year, we reached 100. We don’t know exactly what Rip Roaring will look like five years from now, but we know we want to keep making room for more people to experience this kind of day. 

There is always a moment after the last racer comes through when the adrenaline starts to wear off. The radios get quiet. Bikes are loaded back onto cars. Volunteers start packing things away. The mountain goes back to being a mountain. 

And for a second, you can actually look around. 

You see the people who helped make it happen. You see the racers hanging out with their friends. You see muddy bikes, tired legs, big smiles, and a bunch of people who are already talking about next year. 

That’s usually when we realize why we do it. 

Because the race is the easy part to see. 

What you don’t see are all the conversations and decisions and late nights that happen months before it. You don’t see the people who say yes when you need help. You don’t see the partners who invest in an idea before they know exactly where it’s going. You don’t see the moments when we’re trying to solve a problem that definitely wasn’t in the original plan. 

But then you get to race day. 

And you see 100 femme riders standing at the top of the mountain, ready to drop in. And, naturally, someone has started a dance party. 

Suddenly, all of it makes sense. 

We didn’t really set out to build the biggest race. We wanted to build a race that felt like VNTRbirds; a little competitive, a little chaotic, welcoming, challenging, and, most importantly, fun. 

Four years in, we think we’re getting there. 

And next year, we’ll probably make it a little more complicated.