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05/20/2008
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Smashed
to Smithereens
Words and photos (unless noted) ~ Jeff Bertoia
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As the plane started its descent we pierced the clouds to reveal a long rolling
valley, encircled by snow-capped peaks and cut by wide, flowing rivers. It was
the start of summer in the Bulkley Valley and I’d been sent up to complete
vegetation studies as part of an Environmental Impact Assessment. I was going
to be based out of Smithers for a number of surveys and I’d heard great
things about the “Nelson of the North” - a Mecca of skiing, kayaking,
fishing, music as well as mountain biking extraordinaire.
Inspecting the wreckage.
I foolishly failed to pack my bike the first time around and it took me a few
days into the trip to meet George Stokes. A friend of my coworkers, this
ripping father of three explained the trail networks and 3000’ plus descents
that got my - wait for it...‘Stoke on.' At the end of the
week, my friend and I met with George and his crew to go tackle Piper Down,
a trail I had been drooling over for the past couple of years. A Derek Peltzer
photograph of a guy jumping a plane crash gave me the fever - and I had it bad.
Role reversal; the author getting his gap on. Photo ~ Harry
Williams
Riding George’s ’02 Kona Stinky, with a couple of newbies along,
we took our time down the first part of the trail. Beginning near the local
ski area the trail has that classic ski hill feel. Stunted, shrubby spruce and
sub-alpine fir fly past, and you alternate from mud hole to bedrock at every
turn. After winding down a couple of steep sections you set up into a
nice cliff drop to steep run out. Then - there she is - a crashed 2-seater Piper
airplane that went down in the early eighties. Pulled together and reassembled
by creative local trail builders, there’s a wide ramp up to a platform
that ends where the propeller used to be. It happens fast, and any gap is a
rush, but the crashed plane added such a cool stunt effect it seemed surreal.
George was smiling seeing his Stinky blur through the air.
Cleared for landing. Photo ~ Harry Williams
Satisfied with the plane crash gap we continued our way along Piper Down, riding
fast and flowy sections, and some steep, long rock rides. The trail then comes
to a massive, half-finished wooden ramp system that cuts over an old skid road.
The first tier rides level off the trail and about six feet over the road surface
and then rolls down a wooden ramp and into a big gully, much like a massive
quarter pipe 25-30 feet high. Above this is another level with a gap drop into
the same massive quarterpipe feature. It’s a sick feeling rolling slowly
into it and as you shoot out into the gully and bank the corner there’s
two big gap jumps made from lumber, about 15 and then 20 foot gaps respectively.
This is followed by a rickety step-up/step- down device that may no longer be
supporting its own weight.
Maybe I need to back up here and explain where things started going terribly
wrong. Unitl that point there had been only minor bails, and very little blood.
On the quarterpipe feature I took my time negotiating the drop, even giving
the lower level a shot to suss out the landing and generate a picture in my
mind of how the whole thing would play as I dropped into this rather burly feature.
I was here for work and a broken body would mean no hopping in and out of helicopters
and hiking through the wild. That was something to think about. It had all gone
off without a hitch - minus the rear derailleur bouncing through the spokes
on me. I avoided total destruction by bending the changer back just enough to
get it functional for the rest of the ride.
The big drop. Photo ~ Harry Williams
The rest of the ride lasted another thirty seconds for me. I cranked around
the corner dead last of the group and, lacking speed, bypassed the first of
the two gap jumps previously described. Cranking a little harder into the second
gap I hit the ramp, soared through the air and crashed the front wheel of the
bike straight into the apex of the transition...one bike length short. A sound
reminiscent of a shotgun blast right beside your head rang out through the otherwise
peaceful forest. I started a massive laid out endo, pitching up and over towards
the slotted surface of the ramp, arms straight to intercept the oncoming bout
with disaster, and perhaps a nice afternoon snack of two-by-fours. The little
gap that didn’t...
As I looked certain death in the eye, I flashed through my life as mountain
biker and thought of all my old rides: The rigid Asama, my first mountain bike,
which carried me all over the back hills of the Okanagan, the Scwhinn Moab(dirty
bike thieves), the beauty and functionality of the Rocky Pipeline, and the not
so durable head tube of the DeVinci. Ah... I couldn’t wait to see my beloved
Stinky D again...
Back to reality. Arms outstretched, hurtling through the air, first arm contacts
wood...second arm...contacts...nothing and proceeds through the slots as my
body prepares to snap my arm in two, about mid-tricep. Jedi training prepared
me for a quick shoulder roll, disaster-avoiding manoeuvre. Insert <<heavenly
light and angels singing>>. I stand, pull my arm from the giant rattrap,
slightly scratched, and hella bruised - not broken!
The borrowed Stinky however is not okay, and the front wheel - shattered in
four - segments, appears cartoonesque. George does not look super “stoked”
when I appear from the bush, dragging what used to resemble his bike. Being
a real good chap about things, he asks if I’m okay first, before sighing
and proceeding to go and get his truck so we can make the bike shop before it
closes - so I don’t mess with his Sunday ride. Oh, did I mention it's
now Friday evening?
New front wheel - $125...
Lady luck smiles on me and not only do I save my skin, I save my grace and
we luckily get to the only open bike shop, which happens to be run out of a
guy's garage. You've gotta love Smithers.
New front wheel $125.
Rear derailleur and housing $100
Labour $50
Me getting to live my dream of gapping a plane crash....Priceless
Thanks to George Stokes for getting my thirst on for the Smithers dirt, and
for being a
patient, mellow man.
Anything to say? Say
it here.
Jeff Bertoia
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