Chasing a Vision – Yalla!! V2 in Squamish

For a long time, Squamish was more of a vision in my head than a place on the map. I had these images of tall trees, dark forest soil, and mist hanging between them—long before I finally had the chance to see it for myself.

Last winter, we started discussing where to shoot the Yalla V2 photo and video project, and Squamish kept coming up. Central Europe was quickly ruled out—there were simply too many variables that early in the season to reliably get the results we were after. So even though it meant a 10-hour flight, the question of “if” quickly turned into “why not?”

If we’re honest, in the end it’s less about how you go and more about where you go. If you’re going to travel, it should be for a place that justifies it. The decision was made: it would be my first time in Squamish. A legendary riding destination, a local team rider, and enough time to capture not just the bike, but everything around it.

My name is Jonas, and I work in marketing at RAAW. On this trip, I was responsible for photo, video, action shots, the riding edit, on-site organisation—and above all, making sure we came back with material that captured the release of the new Yalla exactly the way the trip felt.

Planning was, accordingly, spontaneous. Very spontaneous. A big suitcase full of camera gear, an extra backpack, and a bike that absolutely could not get lost. No bike, no shoot. It was that simple. Shortly before the flight, the idea came up to ask Jo to join. Also working at RAAW, he is bike-obsessed and instantly in when it comes to trips like this. His yes came without hesitation.

We drove to Frankfurt together, somewhere between anticipation and mild chaos. Thoughts kept popping up: Would the luggage arrive? Would the bikes make it? At that point, there wasn’t much you could do except hope.

At the airport in Vancouver, there was a brief moment where everything seemed to freeze. I was already through security and turned around to see Jo a few metres behind me. A security officer held his temporary passport, looked at it, looked at Jo, and asked dryly, “What’s that?”

From a distance, I could only see Jo’s face—somewhere between mild despair and a thousand thoughts at once. A few words later, the passport slid back across the counter, Jo got through, and we exchanged a quick grin. Now we were really there.

After landing, we headed straight to Squamish. Even the drive felt special. The highway cut through a landscape you usually only saw in videos—tall trees, mountains, and that hard-to-describe calmness. At some point, it clicked: this wasn’t a Pinterest moment. This was real.

The jet lag hit hard. Jo kept nodding off, so we tried to keep each other awake. At 8 p.m., we gave up. Sleep won.

The shooting days started early. Camera, lenses, snacks, rain jackets, and protection for the gear. The weather wasn’t ideal—but that barely mattered here. Squamish just worked. Every section of forest felt like a ready-made location. No long searching. No second-guessing. Bike details, action shots, sequences for the riding edit—everything almost fell into place by itself.

Coen, our local team rider, knew the trails inside out. He rode calmly and precisely, with that natural confidence you only had when this was home. Rob Perry joined as the photographer, Jo helped out—riding some laps himself, then jumping straight back into shooting. Everything felt dialled. Clear roles, few words. No unnecessary pressure. Exactly how you wanted to work.

In the evenings, we sat together, ate burgers or tacos, had a beer, and let the days sink in. One evening ended with a spontaneous ice cream mission. “Medium” turned out to be a massive bucket, with more cookie dough than ice cream. The rule was quickly set: we wouldn’t drive on until it was empty. Afterwards, we sat there—full, slightly overwhelmed, and happy. Those small moments were the ones that stuck the longest.

In the final days before heading home, I grabbed the bike we’d been shooting and hit the trails myself. One afternoon, Coen joined us and showed us around.

When he showed up, it was clear: work was over. No race kit. No start-gate energy. Half-shell helmet, shorts, and a T-shirt. Loose, relaxed—and perfectly timed with the first appearance of the sun.

Even while filming, I had noticed how playful the trails must ride. Now I got to feel it myself. For the first time, I wasn’t the guy standing on the side with a camera—I was just part of the group. One more shuttle lap. Just riding, following someone who knew every corner. No thinking, no plan—just biking.

At our last meal together, the topic of Canadian taste came up again. Jo and I exchanged a quick look as Coen was served pasta topped with something that looked like a schnitzel-style fried turkey steak. For both of us, it went completely against everything we knew from Italy and good food. We laughed, shook our heads, and silently agreed: Canada got way more right on the bike than on the plate.

In the end, the trip felt like a pretty perfect conclusion. It showed exactly what RAAW meant to me. It wasn’t just about bikes. It was about people, trust, and the chance to experience things others only knew from videos. Work and free time blurred. Creative freedom met real riding. And that was exactly where the stories worth telling came from.