It's a fading December evening, and through the window I can see the sun sinking behind the mountains. I'm sitting at the computer, alternating between watching the words that are formed in my head take shape on the screen, and looking down at a little wrinkled piece of paper resting on my lap. Labeled at the top in my messy scrawl is, "Memorable Rides of The Year." The year mentioned is 2003, and the memorable rides alluded to are the ones that my unconscious worshipped enough to trigger my memory, deeming them worthy of a prestigious place on the small, wrinkled, and rather tired looking piece of paper resting on my jeans.

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The ability of our brain to receive, decode, and save to our gray matter disc the exact feel of the evening sun against our faces as we slide around a corner on the edge of an alpine ridge, the sound of our friends hooting and hollering while descending the steeps, the explosion of adrenaline at the pinnacle of a teeter totter, or the sound and sensation of our tires grinding the earth and flinging rocks and twigs to the trailside is beyond me. Is it a process or wiring and electronic actions so minute and advanced they have surpassed comprehension, or a miracle of our soul's rejoicing in chronicling the experiences we love? Or, could it be a blend of the two, flowing together to provide us with memories we can hold dear for the extent of our lives? The piece of paper on my lap contains a list of 15 of the season's best rides, courtesy of the seemingly random mountain bike ride selection device contained under my lid. Reading down the list, remembering the fine features and luscious curves of each ride, I try to understand why I chose these 15 rides from the vault of rolls I stepped out for this year. Each ride on the list triggers a mental picture from the ride, an adrenaline snapshot of the exact moment when it went from a great ride into what I call a 'Last day of my life" ride, worthy of the end of the world.

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The first memorable ride on the list is, "Cleavage, Memphis by myself on Prevost, February." The snapshot that is instantly placed in my mind is a sandy strip near the top of the Memphis trail, high up on Mt. Prevost, Duncan, BC. My image is a sense of the way the light was pushing through the clouds, seemingly focusing completely on the section of trail I paused on. After becoming literally enlightened by this scene, I dropped into a steep and sandy descent. Remembering this ride, the feeling of weightlessness I experienced while viewing that Vista before sliding down the steeps will stay with me and feed my hunger until the next time I hit that trail.

Riley and Josh

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Another ride on the list is, "Monster, Kaslo BC with Josh and Pat." The snapshot from this ride is of the alpine ridge near the top of the trail. It's a very steep and exposed section and we happened to be descending it in perfect evening light. Golden rays lit up the vibrant green brush on the edge of the trail, and golden shafts of sunlight pulsed through the foliage, creating a sun-striped evening descent, before we laid our bikes into a hard right off the ridge and plunged back into the deep woods, suddenly disconnected from the glory of the summer evening and sun's smile. Scrolling down the list, the ninth memorable ride is entitled, "Circus, GMG with Fred, North Van old school crew." The snapshot from this ride is the group of guys I'm riding with, gathered together in the rainforest, a motley crew of weathered bikes, mismatched gear, and smiling faces. This snapshot reminds me of the importance of friendship and camaraderie, and how I found it that day in the woods high above the City of Vancouver.

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On my list there are solo sojourns, rips in the rain, rides with people I've just met, rides with people I've known all my life, hometown rides, Nelson, Kelowna, North Vancouver, Whistler, Kaslo, and Safeway parking lots. I'm sure that somewhere in the amalgam of memories on my memorable rides list is the answer to my question; how is it that our brain can provide us with perfect snapshots of our experiences days, months, and even years afterwards? How is it that just remembering the grooves on the surface of a log ride, or the way the mist settled amongst the giant cedars I am almost transported there again and can remember the exact feeling the experience gave me?

Riley launching a serious drop.

Somewhere on my list is the answer to this question. I'm not going to be the one to find it, though, if it even needs finding. The unconscious thinks in images, and my list of memorable rides serves as the catalyst to provide me with the snapshots of my memories. I've decided I'm content to just read through my list one more time, and enjoy the recollections of ripping rides. For me they are a culmination of the little things that make up my love of riding my bike, the wind in the trees, my friends, rocks, dirt, moss, logs, just riding. If I can't exactly define what riding means to me, it's still all good.

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