Where the Lines Meet Competition and Camaraderie on the International Circuit
I’ve always been a rider who couldn’t sit still. My career was a mix of “What’s next?” and “Why choose one?” Rather than focus on one discipline, I’ve relished exploring many styles of racing.
BMX took me to the Olympics, giving me laser focus, structure, and world titles that still make my heart race. Mountain biking, and Crankworx specifically, gave me something else entirely.
Crankworx is one of the only places in the world where being a multidisciplinary athlete isn’t seen as being unfocused; it’s celebrated. You can race pumptrack on Thursday, rip dual slalom on Friday, drop into speed and style and a downhill course on Saturday, and end the weekend watching the slopestyle finals with friends. For someone like me, who’s always been motivated by crossing genres and pushing boundaries, it was oxygen. Crankworx felt like home.
As much as I loved mountain biking, there was a long time in which I felt like an outsider. I was “the BMX girl who dabbles,” and it wasn’t until I first won the Queen of Crankworx title in 2022 that I felt as though I’d truly earned my stripes. That crown didn’t just represent a season of consistent results; it was validation that being an all-around mountain bike athlete matters. When I heard my name called as Queen, it felt like shedding a skin. The respect level from the community shifted overnight, and for the first time I wasn’t introduced as “Caroline Buchanan, with a BMX background.” I was a mountain biker and, honestly, that meant more to me than I ever expected.
Crankworx is a tour, but it’s also a moving village where every start gate, shuttle truck, and hotel hallway becomes a memory. The staff, athletes, and media all mix together to create a machine of mountain biking.
One year, during slopestyle, the “Slope Boys” turned our hotel into a scene straight out of a college movie. They grabbed anyone in the corridor, fully clothed and with no warning, and threw us into the pool. Even the receptionist got launched in and then reclothed with a pro’s Monster hat and a YT Mob shirt. It made his night. Those are the stories I’ll tell when I’m 70—not the podium shots or the medals, but the ridiculous, joyful chaos in between.
Austria brought its own wild chapter with a vendor selling gel pellet guns. That night our quiet Alpine hotel turned into an all-out war. I teamed up with six slopestyle girls, knocking on the door of commentator Cam McCaul and breaking and entering with multiple pellet guns, firing and crying with laughter. No one was safe. That same night Shealen Reno stole Nicholi Rogatkin’s bike and rode it straight into the swimming pool. Those are the roots. That’s the culture.
Looking back, my undiagnosed ADHD explains a lot. I was never going to be the rider who wanted to specialize in one lane forever, and Crankworx let me be exactly who I am: curious, unrelenting, and motivated by learning new skills. It rewarded me not for being the best at one thing, but for showing up across every discipline and expanding my freestyle skills in speed and style, and eventually into being the first woman to compete in slopestyle. That cross pollination has been the heartbeat of my career. BMX taught me explosive power and precision, slopestyle taught me risk versus reward and style with creativity, pumptrack gave me timing and finesse, and dual slalom sharpened my cornering skills and ability to ride the edge under pressure. Each discipline fed the others, and Crankworx was the only place that brought them together under one banner.
People always talk about the highs and lows of a long career, the injuries and the wins, but what lasts is the people. Some of my closest friendships are rooted in this culture. I was honored to stand as a bridesmaid in Ellie Smith’s wedding, and Sian A’Hern isn’t just a fellow rider, she’s one of my best friends. I met my best friend and mechanic Kye Hore on my first day mountain biking at 15. And then there’s Shealen Reno. I still remember convincing her to dip her toes into mountain biking after BMX. Watching her not just transition but thrive and eventually become a slopestyle world champion has been one of the proudest full-circle moments of my career. My “why” has always been motivated by the mantra “Be what you can’t see.” I wanted to show that you can be different, build a career, and ultimately do it your own way.
Olympic BMX racing is 40 seconds of breathless intensity, calculated, clinical, and cutthroat. Slopestyle is a completely different rhythm, full of art, expression, and creativity in dirt and wood, while dual slalom sits somewhere between precision and play. Beneath all of it, the heartbeat is the same. Your competitors aren’t just rivals, they’re mirrors reflecting where you need to go. Jill Kintner, Anneke Beerten, Vaea Verbeeck—we’ve battled down to the wire for Queen titles, trading blows in pumptrack, dual, and beyond, and that respectful rivalry has made me a better athlete and human.
There’s a moment burned into my memory from BMX days: losing a card game and, as punishment, having to walk down to the hotel reception at 10 p.m. in full race kit, helmet, gloves, goggles, bike and all, asking for a new room key with a deadpan face while my teammates cried with laughter behind the corner. I remember waking up to Team USA stealing Team Australia’s bikes overnight and setting them up on the USA Olympic training facility’s baseball field as if the bikes were the players. That’s the stuff you don’t see on television, but it carries you through seasons. Or, the time at Red Bull District Ride slopestyle in Germany when I over-rotated a front flip, tore my AC joint, and got a concussion. Before the medics even got there, Kathi Kuypers, the godmother of Slopestyle, was wiping my snot and tears, fixing my mascara, and helping me walk off to the medics saying, “Well, you can stay at my place in Europe if you need surgery here.” That’s freeride family and that’s why we do this.
Crankworx and mountain biking aren’t just a tour or one event—they’re a living, breathing ecosystem of athletes, builders, media, and fans. It’s the only place where my unrelenting, cross-discipline brain could thrive and be celebrated instead of questioned. It’s where I earned my Queen of Crankworx titles and five world titles as a mountain biker, and it’s where I’ve been able to ride bikes, have fun, and feel good riding for Trek Bicycles. More than anything, it’s where I’ve found a family and a purpose that stretches across disciplines and continents. The long game in this sport isn’t about hardware; it’s about the roots you plant and the legacy you leave. Through my IGNITE scholarships, I’m proud to be mentoring and making a difference for future generations.
Now, as I shift into more broadcast roles for Red Bull and the Olympics and tell the stories of other athletes, I realize that’s the real legacy. It isn’t about my runs or my results. It’s about capturing the culture that made me who I am and passing it on to the next rider standing at the top of the hill, heart pounding, ready to write their own chapter.
