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Eagle
Ridge Sunday 18 March
I was woken by thunderous rain in the early morning, and thought
"Hmmm. I'll get a call to cancel the ride", but when Neil
DID call, it was just to confirm when we'd meet. We arranged for me
to pick him up from his house, and we drove to Eagle Ridge
Starbucks, to see who else would turn up. Paul was there with his wife and kids, having thought there wouldn't be a ride. As I burned
my tongue on my coffee, people started to turn up, and after what
seemed a LONG time getting ready (including me inflating my tyres
which I'd had to deflate for the flight), we started off up the
road. Riders: Neil, Dmitri, Darren, Craig, Greg, Tom & me.
When I'd taken a look at the bikes, I'd started to wonder what I was
letting myself in for ... BIG tyres, flat pedals, disk brakes, full
face helmets, telescopic seat posts (to allow the seat to be dropped
*real* low without fouling the suspension), single front chain rings
with bash protectors - these guys were downhillers! Dmitri &
Darren were running 24" wheels to make room for their huge
front tyres, and Dmitri had Marzocchi Massive Triple forks, which
wouldn't have looked out of place on a motorbike...
After a stiff road climb, we waited at a new school building for the
slower riders to catch up, and also for Paul, who had gone home to
get his bike. He turned up with Mike, so that made 9 riders. We rode
into the forest, and up a slippery, rock strewn climb. I immediately
felt right at home with this group. It was just like being with our
club, except the accents were different. Under the trees, the rain
was scarcely noticeable. I later came to recognise it as a
characteristic of BC biking - long, long climbs. The mountains are
several sizes bigger than ours... After some considerable climbing,
we reached a level spot under some powerlines. The guys started
lowering their saddles, strapping on armour, and generally preparing
for danger, and I became more uneasy - what horrors were to come ?
We began a fast, wide downhill over scattered rubble, quite tame, I
thought smugly (pride before the literal fall). Darren showed us a
scar on his thigh, about a foot long, where he'd fallen off on this
track and ripped his leg open. We turned off into the trees onto
some singletrack, and I began to see just how accomplished the BC
guys really were. In the UK, downhills tend to be quite short; here,
they go on, and on, for ages, over endless slick tree roots,
drop-offs and assorted artificial obstacles (these are like
close-spaced, horizontal ladders, usually leading to a scary drop,
or onto a narrow log over a deep gully - totally outside my
experience). I just couldn't believe that I'd get any grip on the
ladders, but after a while, I tried a few easy ones, and was
surprised to find that I did have some control, but I never formed
enough confidence for log-balancing. Needless to say, I found myself
walking around or over many of the things that the others rode. One
of the riders (I think it was Paul), asked me how I was liking it,
and I replied "Unf**kingbelievable!", and someone else
asked "What did he say ?", so he repeated my comment, with
some relish...
As we dropped down the mountain, the going got easier, and we
followed a long, sweeping trail which zigzagged back and forth
through the ever-present trees, with the occasional drop-off to
spice things up. Even with single finger braking, my arms were
pumped with the effort. We emerged onto the road, and I
was a little disappointed, thinking we'd finished, but after a
little road riding, we were back into the forest, sploshing though
puddles, jumping fallen logs and the inevitable slick roots. At one
point, we passed a sign "Beware bears"!
After another road section, we came to a peach of a singletrack -
steep, narrow, and very twisty, and through dense vegetation, so
that, for the most part, you could only see about 5 yards ahead.
Exhilarating and great fun! A quick turn through a school
(studiously ignoring the girl's soccer match in play) brought
us back to Starbucks. We were soaked through but happy. In truth,
the rain only mattered when we had to stop and wait, when the cold
started to penetrate.
Burke Mountain Wednesday 21 March
Riders: Neil, Steve & Simon
Steve's wife drove as far up the mountain as possible, as Neil was
not confident his lights would last long (honest), and Steve had
been delayed in traffic. We set off, and I noticed that Steve and
Neil were talking an easy pace. Gradually, the sheer scale of the
climb began to dawn on me, as each bend in the trail
opened views of more climb ahead. The trail was fairly steep and
loose, and after a while, I began to pray my back wheel would spin
out, so I could take a rest, but it never quite did. Neil became a
smaller and smaller dot in the distance. Eventually (but still only
halfway up the mountain, I understand), we reached the trailhead,
and turned onto "Vicks". Steve said to me "Can you
handle steep ?", and I told him I could. What I couldn't handle
was steep combined with huge drops and tangled roots. Under the
trees, it was already dark, and I turned on my lights - the air was
so still, that if one stopped, vision was obscured by a cloud of
condensed breath. I rode part of the way, and carried my bike over
numerous tricky sections, forcing Neil and Steve to wait for me
frequently (but good naturedly). It was an exciting ride, enhanced
by the darkness. After while, we emerged onto a more open track,
pausing to admire the dusk view, and congratulating ourselves for
being out on such a fine evening. We then rode into a narrow tunnel
of vegetation, with thick mud under foot - I was amused to find that
I left Neil and Steve behind in these more typically British
conditions. After a while, the track steepened severely, dropping
twistily beside a plunging
torrent, into which it threatened to pitch me (or so it seemed). I
don't think I've ever had my arse quite so far back over the wheel,
and somehow, for the most part, I managed to stay on the bike. We
rejoined the fire road we'd climbed on initially, for a fast
downhill back to our starting point, and continued down the road for
a while, until we reached "Flywheel", which was great fun,
even though very muddy. Steep, twisty and slippery, but less
technical - apparently a breeze when dry. It's difficult to convey
the scale of these tracks, compared to what I'm used to, they just
go on and on. Eventually, we came out on the road, for about a
mile's ride back to Neil's house, my light expiring as we reached
it.
The North Shore, Saturday 24th March
I'd begun to discern a pattern. The first ride was more or less
manageable, to lull me into a false sense of security, the second
definitely frightening, and the third threatened to kill me...
Riders: Neil, Darren, Craig, Greg, Justin, Bruce, Dmitri, Darren,
Bruce, Jake, Lance and Simon.
We parked on Mountain Highway, and rode up the hill to the trail
gate, where we met the other riders. This is obviously a very
popular biking area, and we were passed by at least 30 riders in the
short time we were waiting for Dmitri to turn up. We started to
climb the fire road, an easy enough climb, but seemingly endless. I
found it hard to ride slowly enough to keep back with the others. I
think we must have climbed steadily for about an hour, with one stop
for a group photo [to follow]. Eventually, we reached the top of "Upper Oilcan". The trail begins with a vertical 8 foot
drop over a huge tree stump, with an exit ramp and a cobbled
run-out. We spent some while, as people strapped on their armour,
looking at the daunting drop, and I positioned myself to take some
photos - though embarrassingly, it turned out there was no film in
the damned camera! Several riders rode the drop, some more than
once, trying to improve their style! This track was well beyond my
meagre ability, and I spent a lot of time wheeling my bike. I also
fell over one drop, acquiring a nasty cut on one knee, which bled
profusely. At one point, we reached a rock, about 15 feet high, with
a 70 degree slope - which I understand, Darren, Dmitri and Lance and
Bruce rode - I couldn't bear to watch. This was followed by a huge
log (well, tree trunk), along which one was supposed to balance
before turning (on an inadequate platform), onto another. Most of
the guys rode this without turning a hair, and when I carried my
bike over it, someone called, "Hey Simon, you some kind
of a tourist ?" - thanks guys ! It was humbling to have
imagined myself a seasoned mountain biker, and yet find myself
walking most of the trail. There was much hilarity when we came out
onto the fire road again, and people could see the condition of my
knee [photo]. A short climb brought us to "Executioner"
(encouraging name). I can't bring to mind any details - I guess it
takes familiarity to distinguish the characteristics of trails all
featuring trees, steep, roots, drops, logs, jumps and near-death
experiences. Paul got a call on his mobile to tell him one of his
kids was sick, so he and Bruce left us, while we rode a trail called
"Bitches". After a while, I looked back, and began to
wonder if I'd taken a wrong turn, as I couldn't see anyone
following. I hadn't seen any branches, so I decided to continue, and
came across Lance, lying on his back, legs pointing uphill. He'd
failed to clear some complicated obstacle, hit his face on a rock,
and looked decidedly shaken and pissed off. After a little while, he
dragged himself to his feet, insisting that he was OK, but not
inclined to wait for everyone to catch up, so he rode off on his
own, pointing out that if he fell off again, we'd find him beside
the trail. Eventually, the others DID appear, and we continued down
the mountain. I gradually began to realise that if I used a little
less front brake, I wouldn't get pitched over the bars, and the bike
would manage to find its way, even without input from the befuddled
pilot! The trail brought us out onto a steep suburban road, and we
had about a mile of road (with stunning views over Vancouver to the
South) back to the cars. It had taken us about 3 1/2 hours to cover
8 miles! (And I was exhausted, scratched and battered)
So, any thoughts I might have harboured that the Canadians would
turn out to be softies were thoroughly overturned. One couldn't ask
for a more friendly bunch to ride with, and they seem to take their
remarkable skill pretty much for granted. I'd recommend British
Colombia to anyone who wants a new biking experience, but expect to
find yourself severely challenged. Best quote, from Neil:
"Yeah, I've been to Moab, but I found it kinda tame...!"
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