NSMB.e.MAGAZINE - Freeride, Extreme and North Shore style Mountain Biking

Years ago I was pushing my bike up to the top of the fabled Disneyland on BC’s west coast with a group of no longer famous freeriders. At the top of the last push one of the riders exclaimed, “Ha ha ha and we don’t have to pay for this, it’s a free ride!” No categories, no start gun, no losers. And to reinforce the point we spent the next 3- 4 hours descending (hiking and descending to be truthful). How was I to know that this was the flash point for the FREERIDE movement – the counter culture to organized racing and the new home for countless mountain bikers who “don’t have to pay.”

Time has passed – a lot of time - and I find myself in my 40’s facing a new challenge. How can I call myself a rider in the current world of back flips and barrel rolls? How can I satisfy my delicate ego in this super agro realm? Racing that used to satisfy has been replaced with freeriding. You know - the world of no start guns, no losers and, of course, now Crankworx.

Funny thing about humans is that we are predictable. When everyone laughed at the joke about racing years ago I wondered, “Where will this go?” It has gone to its natural and predictable extreme. Jumping, wheelie drops and hucks have led to back flips and barrel rolls which have lead us right back to competition. Events such as Crankworx now mark our calendars. But for me the question is, “Where is an aging mountain biker to go to satisfy the need for the extreme but not break his neck?”

The Conquest
Bring on epic mountain biking and the most difficult mountain bike race on the planet - La Ruta de los Conquistadors. Check out the stats: race across Costa Rica in 4 days, over 350km, 9 climatic zones ranging from the Pacific Ocean to the Caribbean, and the most important number of all - 40,000 vertical feet of climbing! Wait a minute, even the most hardcore racer cringes at the thought of climbing that much. But on the other hand what goes up 40,000’ must come down 40,000’. And in the world of riding what could be better than 40,000’ worth of downhill?

Commitment these days is so easy – press Enter on a keyboard and ‘click’ you’re in. To boost my commitment I started to tell everyone I knew about the coming event. As the story unfolded I found that there were many other loons that had also ‘pressed Enter’. I had a training and travel partner in Dean Payne (BC Bike race founder and former hucker). Matt Young (Innovative Fitness pres. and recent record setter for a ride across Canada), Dan Swanson, Paul Granger, Sandy Mitchell, Tony Routley and lots of other BC guys who I could have sworn had traded in their lycra for baggies also made the commitment. Dean and I chose our weapons in the form of 2008 Trek Fuel Ex’s. His Ex 9 was dubbed ‘Blanca’ and was a pearly white rig with 120mm of travel in the rear and 140mm in the front. My 9.5 was named ‘Negra’ and is the carbon fiber version. I got a bit Obsessed with it and had it set up with as much XTR as I could find.

The event is almost impossible to outline. I have always said that the only place to watch a bike race from is from the saddle of your own bike but I will try. The starting corral is set up in front The Best Western hotel in Haco, Costa Rica on the Pacific Ocean. The surf is crashing on the beach. It is humid and promises to get hot. It is 4:45 am. There are 500 of your soon to be best friends crammed in beside you. A crazy display of fireworks blows off not 15 feet from the corral. Latin pop music is blaring. Unintelligible words are blaring over the PA as the gun goes off.

We roll out of the grid and within 500m are pedaling at a leisurely 40kph. The road quickly degrades from asphalt to gravel then to thinner road and finally to a 4x4 track up the costal mountains. I look up and realize this steep grade and I are going to be real intimate for the next 4 days. Through the pounding in my brain and the screaming in my legs I can hear the noises of the jungle. It is the screams of Macaws, monkeys and other jungle creatures. They are laughing at us. Perhaps the jaguars are in there wondering who is going to be
breakfast.

The jungle experience becomes a mud wrestling match for the riders. As I slip and fall through some of the stickiest, slickest mud a question creeps into my head: Is this a joke?! Who dreamt this up? Rivers get crossed – countless creeks and rivers. The hours fade away and I realize that the jungle is gone and now I am pedaling through some sort of dry forest. More steep climbs and more fast descents. The downhills are loaded with blind corners and sheer cliff drop offs, the traction - not so good. 8 hours of this and like some sort of miracle it ends. I can see the flags of the finish line.

The blaring music returns and people are cheering. I punch the air as I cross the line. The feeling? Best thing in the world! 14,000 vertical feet and 100-plus km. I finish washing my bike and settle in for the BBQ. A sickening feeling starts to descend upon me. It’s not the hardening of my legs. It’s not the complaints of my back – oh no it’s worse than that. It’s the realization that there are 3 more days of this. Eat, sleep, rest (repeat) (repeat).

The question begs: In the face of the freeride revolution – all for free - how can events like this be so popular? Cape Epic sells out at 2000 and turns away another 4000. BC Bike Race will enlist 400 this year and is projected to one day hit 800. TransRockies, TransAlps, and so on. It was only a few years ago that the freeride revolution pronounced that XC was dead. Oh sure the lycra crowd still hangs in Colorado, Idaho or Ontario but in the gnarly Northwest – home of freeride - nada, el muerte. Lycra? That stuff is on the endangered list.

Day 2
Day 2 begins in a way that will soon become familiar. 3:30am wake up call. 4:00am Breakfast. 4:30am pack up. 5:00am bus. 6:00am start. What was I thinking? My life is a good life; happy kids, happy wife. We all get up at 7:00am. The kids play, eat breakfast, go to school. I head into work at 9:30am or so. This event, that I willfully pressed ’enter’ for, is like the army! I throw my stiff legs over my saddle, sit down – ouch! My butt should not feel like that! I break out the diaper crème. My super-stiff legs, aching back and subconscious are just reeling - What
am I doing? As I question this the gun goes off.

All weakness vanishes and the race begins. We are off. Today is reported to be easier than yesterday. Today only 12,000’ vertical, 70 k’s and close to 50% asphalt. The promise of easier is a joke. Costa Ricans have a skill like no other. It’s neither art, like the French, nor sculpting, like the Italians. No, it’s laying asphalt up impossibly steep grades. 30 less km than yesterday translates into steeper terrain…a lot steeper.

As I ride along and pedaling becomes automatic I start to realize that this is more than a race. I begin to lose myself to the ride. My thoughts are not really related to pedaling. Thoughts of my family float around: my boys - their future, what they do, how they think, what they think of me; my wife - her sacrifices to raise awesome kids, what she gave up so that I can pedal around Costa Rica.

I snap to it as the race course takes a devilish turn for the worst. The organizers have added some hell: a short climb up a steep gravel trail, then clay agony. We push our bikes through knee-deep mud; up to our hips in water. This leads to a 150 foot wall of mud. Slipping backwards and losing all gains I ask, “Whose idea is this?” While cursing local organizers and really anyone with a Costa Rican passport, I notice a hand extended down to me. It’s a volunteer offering to help me get over the crux. The generosity forces me to drop my anger.

After sliding down a waterslide of clay and rock we pop out of hell to a gravel road that leads to - of all things - a sprint finish! The music, the people, the rush and oh ya that feeling, that sickening one…“Two more days of this!” I wonder what tomorrow will bring. Eat, sleep, ride (repeat).

Day 3
Unreal – getting out of bed is a problem. Dysentery is now a real possibility. In fact many riders are down for the count. The gun goes off, another rolling start with some 400-plus riders weaving through San Jose towards volcano Arazu. Yup, today we get to climb a volcano. Any thoughts of failure fade with the rush of riders heading up the slopes of this mega mountain. Pedal strokes are automatic. The promise of a wicked 20k descent on the other side drives us on. We reach the high point and are greeted by a throng of fans. I point the bike downhill and experience about 3 minutes of descending before we traverse for about half an hour. Where is the downhill? Again I curse the organizers.

Finally the descent begins for real. North Vancouver riding skills now become relevant. Andreas Hestler (Natl. team member and Olympian) has said that you will not make up time in the downhill. “Yes,” I said to him, “maybe for you at the front, but back here with the plebs downhilling has value.” Driving rain and a return to the jungle leads to some of the sketchiest downhilling ever. I lose count of the number of people passed as I skid down impossible lines with impossible clay and outrageous speeds. The 20 year old in me is alive! As I descend I have picked up a couple racers. We are driving for the finish. Corners are getting crazier as we blindly lean the bikes into the unknown. My bike, I realize, is pedigree. The more I put into it the better it goes.

A Dutch kid and I have really got a race on our hands. Any chance to add power we do. Hauling on the bars the bike pulls into a slight wheelie as we exchange the lead. The rain is still trying to crush us but all we are thinking of is the finish. The road flattens a bit and the kid pulls away. That’s okay; I’ll get him on the next steep. We carve a sharp right and onto an asphalt road. In spite of being in the big ring, the kid pulls away. Within 2km we take a sharp left and game on – a steep gravel descent. Without any caution I let go of my brakes and drop into the hardest gear. The corners are coming on at breakneck speed. Through the rain I see the kid – he has just blown a corner and lost all of his speed. I stand up to make sure he can’t catch me and blow by him. The next 5 corners are a blur – left, right, left, right, really right…I see the finish line!

The finish looks like a downhill ski race finish what with the fencing and advertisements. As I cross the line I nail my brakes and skid to a stop. How much higher can a person get?! My heart is in my throat. I am shaking from the adrenaline. I turn to the kid and we high-five, pound each other on the back – that’s racing!

Ok this is just getting weird. I look around as I get organized. More people are sick, more can’t walk, and medics are really getting busy. It won’t stop raining. That feeling returns…that sickening feeling. Eat, sleep, ride.

Day 4
Man do I feel sick. Kind of pre-race sick. I need a cork for my butt and we have a 120km day from the highlands to the Caribbean below. I’m blowing chunks from my nose and all I want to do is finish. The gun goes off and up we go. Wait a minute! I thought we were going down to the Caribbean? Well I give it to the organizers they are consistent. Today we are rewarded with about 8000’ of descending. My bike continues to take what ever I throw at it. I am so surprised by how well it carves and today I so appreciate it as I hold onto corners by a thread. We hit ridiculous speeds through mountain towns and accompanying residential streets. Medics are now very busy as many riders just simply pop and crash on the way down. A pace line sets up and just as we get our rhythm we stop.

We get off our bikes and run the length of a slimy railway bridge with no guard rails and no walkway. We are just above sea level and this rail line and my butt are going to deal with each other for the next 25kms. Oh I feel for the guys and girls on hardtails. My bike just soaks it up and I start catching people. The chase is so motivating. On the rail bed, off the rail bed, and back again. Riders are getting flats, I see a bike get thrown into the swamp beside the tracks. The rain just keeps pounding and the racing continues. Groups set up and pace lines evolve. The riders are silent, words need not be spoken; we are going to finish.

The gravel and sand roads fade into asphalt and I hook up with a couple familiar faces and another pace line sets up. Soon I can see crowds of people. As we near the finish we turn off the road and wheelie our bikes out onto the beach. As I cross the line I become aware of the loud music and the crashing surf. My friends Kate and Fraser are out on the beach. We give each other stinky slimy hugs and rejoice in the moment – I have finished what has proven to be the toughest race of my life.

I look around and spot Roman Urbina – the race founder. It was from his twisted mind that this event has come. He is in obviously in pain for just two days before he snapped his Tibula in a motorcycle accident – on the race course. He crutches over in the sand grabs, my hand, shakes it very hard and with a crazy twinkle in his eye he says, “Congratulations you are now a Conquistador.”

Conquistador
That says it all. All this time I was so puzzled by the question why are all these people doing this event? Friendship? A good challenge? What is it?

I finally got it: I am a Conquistador. Every finisher is a Conquistador. We have conquered. Everyone who dealt with the 20 inches of rain, flooded back roads, insane downhill, endless uphill, thin air, clay encrusted bikes, endless hike-a-bikes, bowel disorders, sleepless nights, diets of Powerbars and gel, getting lost, and more hike-abikes is a Conquistador. Everyone is a winner for they have conquered their fears and, through this passage, have won.

The core values of freeride have come to cross-country. The riders of La Ruta are not rewarded for beating someone; they are rewarded for conquering their own fears. The freerider in me sees the two sports in the same mental space. In the conquering of fears, the belief that I can, the quieting of the voices that say “stop,” I realize that I will and I am. I will do this because I am doing this. No voices, no chatter, no disbelief. I can apply this knowledge to all aspects of life. I can ride down a slippery, slime covered log across an impossible ravine, huck a drop off, jump across some gap. I can start a charity, run a successful business, and organize events. I can be a great father and husband - I can apply it to all aspects of life. I can take fear by the horns and believe in myself, believe in the moment, believe that completion is imminent and it will occur.

Sure La Ruta is a bit extreme and likely not for everyone but the experience learned should be taken on by all. Maybe BC Bike Race is for you, maybe TransRockies, and perhaps La Ruta? The realization that you are capable, able and amazing should be learned. We set the limits we chose to live by but all is possible.

So go do it – ‘press Enter’ and have the ride of your life.

James