There are some riders whose careers can be measured in wins. Others in years. Cory Wallace’s time at Kona is measured in continents crossed, start lines toed, friendships forged, and stories that only really make sense somewhere around hour eighteen of a race.
For nearly two decades, Cory rode Kona the way most people don’t get to ride anything: fully committed, deeply curious, and always just a little bit off the map. From 24-hour world championships to Himalayan mountain passes in the dark, his career wasn’t built around a single discipline or defining result. It was built around saying yes to hard things, far-flung places, and long odds.
As Cory’s chapter with Kona comes to a close, we wanted to slow down for a moment and look back.
Over the course of his time on Kona bikes, Cory estimates he’s lined up for more than 800 races, stepping onto the podium over 400 times. Those results include winning the BC Bike Race, claiming two Canadian Marathon National Titles, and six straight 24-Hour World Championships, a streak that has since stretched to nine consecutive years.
“They all took a lot of perseverance and many years to finally crack,” Cory says. “Those are the ones that stick.”
But the numbers only tell part of the story. When asked if there was one defining season where everything truly clicked, Cory’s answer is very on-brand: not really. “Every year was a highlight for one reason or another,” he says. That said, the stretch from 2014 to 2016 stands out. Sixty to seventy race days per year, wins scattered across the globe, and an even mix of racing and adventure.
More recently, things clicked again in a different way. “This past August was a big one,” Cory says. “Finally winning the classic Wheeler stage at Breck Epic, then finishing second overall after early flat-tire issues.” A few weeks later, he backed that up by shattering the Vapor Trail 125 record by more than twenty minutes, one of the strongest rides of his career.
Fittingly, his final race aboard a Kona came far from home. “My last race for Kona was in India on December 30th,” he says. “A 300 km race, one of the longest mountain bike races in the world. I took the win by a large margin.” The takeaway is simple. “The older I get, the better the diesel engine is running,” Cory laughs. “I’m excited for the next couple of seasons to come.”
Some memories burn brighter than results. A trip to Mongolia with Kris Sneddon, Barry Wicks, and Spencer Paxson involved massive flooding, running out of brake pads, and somehow scorpion massages at the end. New Zealand brought the seven-day Pioneer Stage Race, followed closely by the 24-Hour World Championships. Then there was Rouge Roubaix in Louisiana, which ended with three police cars pulling the team over and asking if Spencer Paxson, “the whitest guy on the team,” was Black. “It was random,” Cory says. “But memorable.”
If you want to understand Cory Wallace’s relationship with suffering, look no further than the Tour of the Dragon in Bhutan. A 270 km race. A 3,000-metre mountain pass. A 2 a.m. start in pouring rain. After a two-hour descent that destroyed the bikes, Cory faced an eleven-hour solo mission over three more mountain passes to the finish in Thimphu, where the Prime Minister was waiting. “I wasn’t very good with race nutrition back then,” Cory admits. “I couldn’t eat anything for the last four hours. I barfed once and barely made it to the line.” It remains one of the toughest days of his career, physically and mentally, and exactly the kind of challenge he kept coming back for.
At the 2012 24 Hours of Old Pueblo, Cory arrived after three months of tree falling in Northern Canada, overweight, under-trained, and questioning his choices. Leading around midnight, his stomach went. Then his vision. “I was freezing, barely able to see, huddled around a fire with some volunteers,” he recalls. “The race felt doomed.” The fix came from team mechanic Dave. “He told me to take my contacts out and put on my glasses, and that fixed it.” Cory got back on the bike and held on for the win.
If there’s one bike that stands above the rest, it’s the carbon Kona Honzo. “It helped me become the first foreigner to win the Himalayan Yak Attack in Nepal,” Cory says. That same bike went on a world tour, winning races in Bhutan, East Timor, Vietnam, Japan, and India. Later, the Hei Hei became the go-to.
Cory is quick to point out that none of this happened alone. “Kona’s Dik Cox had the biggest impact early on,” he says. “He was always there when things got tough, and always the first to call after a race.” He also credits Dan and Jake for unwavering belief and support, especially during COVID, when racing stopped and many riders didn’t know what came next. “They kept supporting us when others were cutting salaries,” Cory says. “That meant everything.”
From early teammates Barry, Kris, and Spencer, to mechanics like Dave McNaughton, to shops and supporters across Canada, Nepal, India, and beyond, the list is long, and Cory knows how lucky he’s been. “I was very fortunate for the huge supporting cast I had throughout the years.”
“Kona gave me the chance to be a professional bike racer for over fifteen years,” Cory says. “For the last ten, I could focus one hundred percent on racing, traveling the world, and chasing whatever adventure I wanted.” That level of freedom, paired with long-term support, is rare. “It’s pretty much unheard of in this industry anymore.”
When asked what he’s most proud of from his time at Kona, Cory doesn’t hesitate. “The friendships made all over the world.”
And when it comes to summing it all up? “It was one of the wildest and most memorable chapters of my life,” he says. “I treated every year like it could be the last, because it could suddenly end at any time, which it has now.”
“There are very few regrets. It turned into a wonderful, symbiotic relationship that spanned nearly two decades.”
Thank you for all the support and cheering over the years, especially the Kona dealers like Freewheel Cycle, The Bench, Straight Up Cycles, The Bicycle Café, and many more who kept the machines running and the inspiration high.
Over and out. For the last time.
