The Freeride Dial – Up to Eleven!

Over 15 years ago, my weekends regularly started with a sound that only a few people today will recognize: the screeching tone of the modem dialling up in my parents' home office as it connected to the internet. A few clicks later Pinkbike would load in the browser, ready to download the latest freeride videos at the blistering speed of 64 kb per second. By the time breakfast was over, I’d have a full episode of Drop In ready to watch. I could hardly believe my eyes as I watched the trails and creative features that seemed to exist only in one place in the world: CANADA!

When I finished my long studies and entered the professional world, my priorities shifted dramatically. The motivation to compete with the world’s top enduro riders faded into the background and became less important. The pure joy of riding would become my main focus. A few tight turns or a run on fresh untouched dirt gave me more satisfaction than days on end training or long race weekends. The dream of being a successful racer slowly faded, and a long-overdue desire took centre stage. The question of how to finance the Canadian trip, which had been a constant worry, was no longer an issue with the start of my career and the limited free time it allowed. Submit the vacation request, book the flights, check the accommodation, and off we go. Simple, yet surprisingly nerve-wracking.

The six months between booking and departure flew by in the blink of an eye. All my well-intentioned preparations were doomed from the start, as I had already prioritised fun. My Madonna was finished just two weeks before departure, and my fitness, once my strength, felt at an all-time low. Objectively, it was a chaotic situation for a former structured racer. But when I landed in Vancouver, my excitement and motivation were limitless. The motto "less is more" had seemed naïve during the planning phase. Fourteen days in Whistler with day trips to Squamish, followed by seven days on the Sunshine Coast. All of it seemed manageable, considering the endless options in the Canadian forests.

After a long travel day, we were all relieved to finally arrive at our first accommodation. However, our plan to crash into bed was foiled by the severe jetlag, so we ended up pulling the bikes out of the boxes and assembling them late into the night. The weather forecast also did little to curb our excitement for the first few days.

The next morning, thick fog rolled through the valley and the thermometer barely showed double digits, far from the expectations of a summer vacation. The sight of the treetops emerging from the fog, and the uncertainty of what lay beyond in the grey soup, reminded me of old film clips. After a quick discussion, it didn’t take long before we were heading to the first trail.

This first trail sparked mixed emotions. On one hand, there was serious respect for the technical challenge, yet on the other, pure joy at finally fulfilling a long-held dream. However, as the vacation progressed, it became clear that respect for the difficulty of the trails shouldn’t turn into fear. The key was to honestly assess my own abilities, not to rely on a sign telling me the difficulty. The real fun comes when the seemingly uncontrollable remains within reach of control.

The relentless craving for the ultimate adventure, combined with the fear of missing out on the best trail at the already limited riding locations, kept us all on edge throughout the trip. A-Line, Dirt Merchant, D1, Ride Don’t Slide, and any secrets, we were constantly on the lookout for the next best, smoothest, or most perfect trails, just like in the videos that had pulled us to the other side of the world. Our standards were high, and although preferences within our group varied, we always agreed by the end of the day: that we hadn’t yet found the perfect trail.

Out of the ten planned days in the Whistler bike park, we only managed eight. Our desperate mission to find the best trail led us to endless uphill trails, pushing bikes up ski slopes, and hauling them through the woods. With each day the search became harder, and after two weeks in Whistler, the exhaustion from the past days was written all over our faces. It was time to pack up and head to the Sunshine Coast.

With great effort, we managed to cram all our bikes and luggage into the truck. When we arrived at the ferry terminal in Vancouver, the ferry staff gave a critical look at our packed truck bed. The maximum height limit was barely respected. However, with a quick nod from the staff, we were allowed to board the ferry.

Our vacation home on the Sunshine Coast was in Roberts Creek, right in the heart of Canada’s freeride scene. This gave us hope that we’d finally satisfy our craving for the best trails on the planet. By the end of the first day, however, we all realised that nothing comes for free. The highest point of the mountain wasn’t accessible by car and could only be reached via a steep gravel road. To conserve energy and maximise attempts, we decided not to ride but to push the bikes up this road instead. One trail after another, and by the end of the day, we had pushed up the rough gravel road five times, covering nearly 1000 metres of elevation. It was hard work for a vacation day.

We didn’t give up the search until we were on the plane heading home. Jump lines, skinnies, fresh loam, we rode it all. But was it worth it? That question gnawed at me on the flight back and in the weeks after the trip.

Reluctantly, I glanced at the GoPro footage and the photos from the shoot. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Were these the trails we had ridden? Wait, I rewound. Loam splattering against the GoPro lens. Is this real? We had ridden the best trails without even realising it. That’s when I understood, every effort was worth it.

Would I do anything differently if I had the chance to go back to Canada? Only one thing. Leave the tunnel vision hunt of finding the best trail behind and enjoy every second on the trail to the fullest, turning the freeride dial up to 11.

Words: Chris Derkum 

Photos: Rob Perry