Transatlanticism.

Well, time to test out what we had built. 

Below us, the drop falls into a mass of trees and thick underbrush. At this point it doesn’t feel so much like a bike trail as it feels like a drop off into the middle of nowhere. Beside me, Joe is outlining his plans for this run. Wanting to follow the contours of the valley slopes, he wants to put in a long wall ride that flows to the right and then see where it takes him. As I will find out later on, Joe seems to always start his builds relatively small and then they just kind of explode from there. We drop our gear and before I can even get out my gloves, Joe starts trudging up hill towards another path. “Come on up. I’ll show you something we did last year.” he says as he continues to climb, dog in tow. 

Following another bike path up, we start to pass other trails that run perpendicular, through, and over the current one we are following. Once we get to the plateau of rock and moss, a seeming starting point from some of the other trails, we head towards the face into another rock valley. Below us, a ladder bridge seems to snake across the valley wall and carve upwards to the other side. Before us, an impressive array of prebuilt trails, greenery, and wood that seems to just be carved into the side of the rock. As we get closer, I make out some flowers strewn about in pre-arranged posts and nooks, a burst of colour in an otherwise green and grey area. “I wanted to try and do something that no one had really done much of in trail building” he explains as he points out the various plants and flowers that follow the run. Incorporating some landscaping and gardening aspects while building the trail, he had added some life and colour to a relatively low contrast area. Daffodils, lilies, and a plethora of other hardy flowers line the walls and sides of the trails. And the trail itself is pretty amazing as well. Snaking to the top of the other side of the valley we decided, the run cuts tights corners while hugging the rock face on both sides of the valley. Each side connected by a veritable fortress of a ladder bridge,  Joe also explains that all the wood that he uses when he trail builds is harvested from pre-fallen trees on the forest floor. So not only did it take a long time to just get the trail in, each piece had to be found, measured, and then cut to size with a chainsaw before putting it in place. To top all of this off, nothing was anchored into a living tree, so all braces and posts had to be carefully placed to secure the load of the bridge and riders. After having a few jumps onto the ladder ride, not only did it look more polished than most of what else we had seen, it was sturdy as shit. 

Having seen his previous construct in all it’s glory, we headed back to where the bike drop and our stowed gear awaited. Having found out that we didn’t have an available means of pre-fabricated wood, we went on the search for our supply. Luckily for us, the brush contained a plethora of already fallen wood from a past wind storm, thankfully not yet rotten from the dark and dampness of the forest floor. With the supply part down pat, Joe quickly started measuring and full logs. The idea was to get the skeleton of the frame in first and then start applying what would be the boards and move on from there, whatever that may be. Soon the rhythm of finding a log, cutting it to size, securing it with braces and then affixing it to another piece of the puzzle fell into place and the hours start to slip by. Quickly, it became apparent that the collection and preparation of the wood was definitely the major time suck of the operation. In a span of about 6 hours, we managed to get the frame of the first six meters of the wall ride into place and begin the start of the next six. Having been moving logs through the still thick underbrush and over rocks and stumps, it still seems like we haven’t really done much. Most of the landscape looking the same as we got there and my body was starting to protest every time I grabbed another log. As we pack up our gear and start heading back towards our car I ask Joe how long it took for him to build the other run he had shown me earlier and he replies: “Oh, that took almost all of last winter to do”. 

Well, that just confirmed what I had already been thinking: “It looks like this going to be an ongoing project for the next little while”. And really, no complaints whatsoever. From what I had seen today, I was looking forward to see how this was going to turn out and hopefully be able to say I had helped build a trail and, more importantly, rode it.  

Now….just to get a bike.

“As you can see, we’re cutting it pretty close with some of these builds” explains Joe as we cross out of government land. As we pass the BC Hydro sign indicating we are leaving their property, I find a wooden bike bridge skirting along the side of the imaginary boundary line. We’re somewhere north of Comox Lake and somewhere south of Forbidden Plateau, surrounded by a mass of vegetation and miles and miles of bike trails built by people like Joe in their spare time. I guess today I finally get my introduction into trail building.

I met Joe earlier this year at the start of the ski season while helping out with the volunteer ski patrol association up on Mount Washington. If you were up on the mountain often in any capacity, you’d probably have noticed Joe. Working in the Safe Slopes department and having an almost endless supply of energy, Joe was one of those guys who kind of just stuck in your head. If you ever needed motivation to do just about anything or wanted some help with something during the day, Joe was your guy. He had a story for just about everything and luckily, that absurd amount of energy also spilled into his skiing and he was the first to jump at the opportunity to get another line in, regardless of the conditions. While he may not have been the best skier on the mountain, he most certainly had the most balls and confidence. Tree skiing was like second nature to him, zipping between the trunks, charging full speed, and jibbing off just about every and anything. And while skiing was what he pushed during the winter, it was pretty apparent to note that mountain biking was his summer thing, and as we crept up to the end of the season on Mount Washington, he talked about it more and more. 

By this time, I had “graduated” from the volunteer patrol association to the paid patrol that worked on the mountain and found myself up there most days of the week. This afforded me an ample amount of face time with a large percentage of the paid staff members, and of course, more time spent with Joe. As he continued to talk about skiing, mountain biking, and everything in between, I began to realize I had never really gotten into downhill mountain biking much. My experience pretty much peaked at heading up to Mount Washington last September with a friend from Alberta who was on the West Coast for the summer. And believe me, I walked away from that experience pretty amped, but more importantly, beaten and bruised to high hell. The more Joe talked about it, the more interested I got in learning about it and spending more time doing it. Not only did he talk about mountain biking, but also about trail building, something he had done extensively in previous seasons. I took the bait. I asked to be able to tag along during one of these builds and help out the next time he was going to do so. Without hesitation, he agreed, and the conversation steered elsewhere; a cliff drop he had done in Lake Louise or another trail he had made, I can’t remember. 

And so here I am, almost three months later, crossing over Crown land to go and build a trail with Joe and his dog, Draco, alternating between leading us up and sprinting furiously after us. Joe, keeping a steady pace, swings a machete looking sword to clear stray branches and debris on the ground. As we cross the first ladder bridge and head towards the dense undergrowth, he points to a makeshift sign that is posted to a dying tree and explains that most runs are named, even out here, although the builders like to keep it on downlow. “Good way to keep track of where you are and what you’ve built, but bad for keeping the number of people down” he says as we labour slowly up the rolling hills, climbing through gaps and other obstacles set for people coming down on bikes. It’s apparent that even in this rainy weather, the trails have already been well used; paths cut through the moss and reveal bike tread on the bare rock faces and grooves in the softer mud of the sharper turns. After awhile, we stop on the peak of a mossy rock face and Joe points towards something inward of brush, a distinctive colour against the plethora of green. My eyes make out the outline of wooden stumps, cut and lined up, jutting out from perpendicular from the face that it’s resting on. A bike drop, made out of split logs and leading off into a sharp turn in the valley, lie before me as I finally make out what it is. 

I guess this is going to be my introduction to trail building. 

Same video as before, but without the banter. Maybe better? Who knows.

The Lumineers - Big Parade

One of the things I’ve had the pleasure of doing lately is discover the insane amount of amateur built trails in and around the Comox Valley.

I’ve been lucky enough to be invited along a few times to do some trail building of our own. One of the really cool things that I’ve found is that everything being done is with reclaimed wood or dead trees, nothing is harvested from anything living. And by all means, there is a TON of wood to use, it just requires a little more effort to get it to the length and shape that you require.

And thus, my initiation into building bike trails has begun; we’re in the process of building a platform drop that leads into a large wall ride that follows the contour of the valley.

A huge work in the progress, but should be ridiculous once it’s completed.

A few shots that were taken by Gaetan Lamarre while he was out here. Shot at Mount Washington during the snowy month of March.

Cathedral Grove and Vancouver Island’s west coast. These were taken in mid-March and was kind of the anti-thesis of our ski season. While it was dumping snow up on the mountain, we were still able to go and explore in spring like conditions.

Chalk another one up for the Island. 

Resorts

• Rack up 10,000 vert at a ski area with less than 500 vertical.

• Be the first one into an untracked bowl as patrol drops the rope.

• Give first tracks to someone else.

• Take the Mad River Glen: Ski It If You Can sticker off the car of someone you know has never skied there.

• Ski alone all day, telling outrageous lies about yourself to the people you meet on the chair.

• Ski all day with a group of ripping locals. Tell them what you really do.

• Ride a T-bar on a snowboard to reaffirm your love of skiing.

• Ski a long bump run without stopping—and nail it.

• Take a non-skiing friend skiing.

• Thank your lift ops. 

• Ski one of these classic runs Corbet’s Couloir, Jackson, WY High Rustler, Alta, UT Couloir Extreme, Blackcomb, B.C. KT-22, Squaw Valley, CA Goat, Stowe, VT Kant-Mak-M, Telluride, CO

• Ski runs just as good, but less well-known Steep ‘n’ Deep, Monashees, B.C. Pas de Chèvre, Chamonix, France Big Couloir, Big Sky, MT Cambodia, Red Mountain, B.C. Red Square, Vail, COSkydive, Fernie, B.C.

Shred

• Ski 100 days a year

• Ski every month of the year

• Move to a ski town. Find a job you can sustain yourself on that requires you to work as few hours as possible, preferably at night. Ski your face off for the rest of those hours.

• Wear a helmet. All the time.

• Dawn Patrol. If the weather girl can be up and in full makeup by 5 a.m. so can you.

• Drive through a raging snowstorm on a lonely road at night to go skiing.

• Do a BN lap

• Hike for your turns. 

• Ski at Aspen wearing camouflage pants, a fluorescent orange knit hat, and a hockey jersey.

• Ski at Pine Knob, Michigan, wearing real fur.

• Loose both skis, gloves, goggles, and all your spare change in a spectacular yard sale under the chairlift.

Life

• Put your boots on in August and walk around the yard.

• Ride around the bullwheel, on purpose or not.

• Transport your skis via public transportation—subway, bus, train. Rush hour gets you bonus points.

• Call in sick on a powder day. Extra credit for using one of these excuses:

  “I fell asleep in the tanning booth and was seriously burned over 96 percent of my body. It’s imperative that I remain naked.” (This will explain your skier’s tan.) “Okay, since you asked: It really hurts when I pee….” “I don’t know what it is. The doctors are saying it’s an airborne Ebola variant…. Yes, I’m sneezing. Should I come in anyway?” “The plate in my dog’s head froze last night. Right now I’m holding him upside-down in lukewarm water with bendy straws in his nose so he can breathe.” “My great aunt from Vermont just had a nervous breakdown and is picking off squirrels with a .357 Magnum. I’ve got to get up there; I’m the only one who can talk her down.”

• Every year, catch a flake from the first storm of the season on your tongue.

• Flirt with a lift op. Get some.

• Go to the Winter Olympics.

• Get risqué in a gondola, preferably with someone else.

• Donate clothing, equipment, money, or your time to a ski program for disadvantaged youth.

• Pack 10 people into a one-bedroom condo.

• Sleep in your car in a ski-area parking lot.

• Scam a lift ticket.

• Watch ski flicks in July.

• Carpool: friends, tunes, less emissions, someone to keep you awake on the ride home. Win all around.

Trips

• Go to France. Ride two trams to the Aiguille du Midi, a huge rocky pinnacle at 12,604 feet on the legendary Mont Blanc. Then spend the day skiing the crevasse-strewn Vallée Blanche back down into Chamonix. Eat a jambon sandwich along the way.

• Hut Trip. Best friends, box of wine, bottle of whiskey, bottomless pow.

• Heli drops in Alaska

• Give yourself a week and hit the Canada’s Powder Highway

• They call it Japow for a reason: 12-hour sessions at Niseko, BC missions in to the Teine highlands and metric tons of sushi.

• Ski tour the Haute Route

• Tuckerman’s Ravine

• Heli-ski Kashmir

• Paint your face red, white, and blue. Then go to a World Cup Downhill and scream your bloody head off.

Skills

• Take an Avy Class

• Own a chainsaw. Cut your own line through the woods. Name it. Ski it.

• Learn to tune your own skis.

• Tune your mom’s skis.

• Memorize Squirrel’s lines from Hot Dog…The Movie.

• Learn three mountaineering knots. Know how to use them.

• If you’re going to shoot helmet cam footage for gawdsake figure out how to edit it.

• Know how to make killer chili: On a cold snowy night, after a hard day on the mountain, we skiers need more than bits of raw fish eaten with little sticks. What we need, and what you need to know how to make, is a stick-to-yer-ribs bowl of chili. And a spoon. Here’s how: Heat oil in a skillet and sauté 1 1/2 cups diced onion, 1 cup green bell peppers, and 2 garlic cloves (minced). Add 1 pound of ground beef; cook until brown. Add 3 tablespoons flour and mix. Add salt, pepper, an 8-ounce can of tomato sauce, 1 cup water, 1 tablespoon chili powder, and 2 teaspoons cumin. Stir in 1 pound of canned kidney beans and let simmer for a couple hours. Top with shredded cheddar and serve with cold beer.—Helen Olsson

• Put together a personal med kit. Know how (and when) to use everything in it.

And on the seventh day, the Lord allowed us to blow things up. It’s been a blast Mount Washington!

Vancouver Island: Snow to surf is just a stone’s throw away.

Photos courtesy of Gaetan Lamarre.

I guess we had a few days where we weren’t on the mountain.

Photos courtesy of Gaetan Lamarre.