by Alex van Tol
“That’s wicked,” Seth says as Chase hits a jump, gobbles air and tracks smoothly down the backside.
“I don’t know, you guys,” says Nolan. He takes his glasses off and rubs the lenses on the corner of his T-shirt. When he puts them back on, he sighs. “It looks pretty technical to me.”
“It can be as technical as you want,” I point out. “Or not. You don’t have to go as fast as Chase. You’re not supposed to be pro, Nolan. You’re here to learn. Just go however fast feels safe. They’re jumps for him,” I say, jerking my thumb in Chase’s direction, “but they can be bumps for you.”
Rico chimes in, and we all turn to look. He hasn’t said much of anything all day. “Your speed determines the nature of the obstacle,” he says to Nolan. “You don’t have to burn it up on your first go-around.”
Nolan considers this. “Yeah, you’re right,” he agrees. “No burning on the first round.”
Chase swoops in again, braking to a stop in front of our little group. “Who’s up?” he says with a grin.
chapter four
Seth jumps up, punching his fist into the air like a kindergarten kid who Knows The Answer.
“Me!” Seth yells. “I’m going!”
I let Seth have his moment. I can wait. I mean, I can hardly wait. But I can wait.
Nolan isn’t about to argue with Seth. In fact, Nolan looks like he might pee his pants right about now. He’s so not ready. I want to laugh, but I don’t.
I watch Seth drop in and go around the track once, pedaling lightly as he gets a feel for the obstacles and transitions. Twice around, this time a bit faster. He leans into a curve, pushing his wheels hard against the side of a berm.
“Right on, Seth!” Chase shouts. “That’s the way.” Seth grins and speeds up a bit, pulling up on the handlebars and pushing down on his pedals as he negotiates the bumps. He gets a good head of steam up and catches big air off the lip of a bump. Showoff. He’s rushing into it.
He pulls up on his handlebars too hard, raising the bike’s nose.
Beside me, Nolan whoops, then gasps as Seth comes down. His back tire hits hard, followed by his front wheel. Both feet come off the pedals, and he drags heavy to keep his balance. I can see he’s scared, but he has the sense not to lock his wheels.
I gotta hand it to him. He ends a stupid stunt with a clean recovery.
Typical.
“Yeah, remember that bit I mentioned about staying in control, Seth?” yells Chase. We all laugh.
Seth does another lap, nice and tight this time. He rolls to a stop at the top of the berm we’re standing on. His wide smile tells me how much he likes the pump track. I know, like me, he’s already making plans for one in our neighborhood.
“Dude! That was supreme!” Seth shouts. “I want to go again!”
“All in good time, Seth.” Chase smiles. “Everybody gets a turn.” He looks around at me, Rico and Nolan.
Nolan sticks up his hands, palms out, and shakes his head. “You go, Rico,” he says. “I’ll watch you.”
I let Rico step forward. He’s pretty experienced, being a junior counselor and all. Besides, I’ll get a better picture of the terrain by watching the other guys ride it ahead of me.
Rico rolls his bike smoothly into the pit. He rides nice. Slow but fluid, like a snake through water. We watch and listen as Chase points out Rico’s form and technique. Rico is completely focused, fully in the moment. He’s good.
He does three laps. He lets himself pop up off the last few jumps. Does a couple little handlebar twists. Then he wheels in.
I look at Nolan and raise my eyebrows. He nods and steps forward. He rides two laps, pedaling much of the way, but he’s got the pumping action pretty good. Not bad at all.
“Nice work, Nolan!” Seth shouts. Rico and Chase whistle. When Nolan gets back to the group, his eyes are shining behind his glasses. He seems to have grown taller somehow.
I drop in while they’re still patting him on the back. He talks excitedly about his ride. He’ll be yapping about it for another two hours, I bet.
I take off, coasting down the first slope. Up onto a bump, back down into a valley. I ride several more waves, easy and loose. Around a curve. I pedal across a berm, looking ahead and scanning the terrain on my first time around. I won’t be pedaling for long. Soon I’ll be using only my weight and pumping action to move the bike across the ground. Swooping low around corners. Pulling up and pushing down, riding the waves, over and over. It’s the same motion you see horse jumpers using when they’re leaping over high rails and water traps.
Same principle. Except this ride goes faster and involves a lot more dirt.
As I think about the motions—up, down, pull, push, pump—my body follows. My attention narrows, focusing to a sharp point. I pick up speed, and everything to the side of the track falls away. I don’t see anything but the rolling dirt path ahead. I keep my head up, scanning the track, planning my route. Riding it hard. Active. I shoot across a series of waves, gaining speed with each drop. I’m a pogo stick on wheels. My legs and arms act separately, like shock absorbers.
I pump harder on the second round, dropping my shoulders and pressing into the transitions to build my speed. I become one with my bike. And we become one with the track, a marble rolling fast along a narrow chute.
I swoop into a berm, keeping my butt low in the saddle and pushing my rear tire into the wall. I shoot out of it and over a hump, catching air and coming down clean on both tires. With traction. In control.
Fast.
Then another series of bumps. Up. Off. Air. Down. Up. Off. Air.
Again.
A chorus of cheers erupts from the other end of the pump track, and I finish my last lap with a huge grin. Chase claps my back. Nolan claps his hands. Seth matches my grin, and Rico high-fives me.
Bike camp rocks.
chapter five
Sunlight wakes me up, streaming through the cobwebby window beside my bed. I struggle into a sitting position. My sleeping bag gapes open, and a blast of cold air hits my arms. Holy crap, is it ever cold in here! It’s gotta be minus five. It’s colder in this cabin than it is outside, I’m sure of it. I gather my bag around my neck, closing it off so my body stays warm.
Chase is already gone from his bunk. How did he leave without waking any of us? I can see Nolan’s head poking out of his sleeping bag. He’s peering around with bright eyes. Probably calculating the factor by which his body’s molecules are slowed in subzero temperatures.
Rico’s still conked out, facing the wall. His side moves slowly with his breathing. Up, down. Up, down. He’s not waking up anytime soon.
Seth sits up, and I look over. He grins, and I smile back. I always feel good in the morning. Just as Seth is slipping his shoes on to head to the outhouse, Chase bursts through the door.
“Up and at ’em, guys. It’s seven twenty. Didn’t you hear the wake-up bell?” He looks around at our groggy forms, his eyes coming to rest on his junior counselor. “I’m guessing not.”
Seth grimaces as he pulls on his shoes. I can imagine how cold they feel. I wiggle my toes inside my warm sleeping bag and yawn.
Chase looks at Seth. “Good,” he says. “You’re ready. You can come help set the breakfast table.”
Seth shakes his head. “Not me, man. I gotta whiz. Take Jamie.” He slips past Chase and out into the cold morning air.
Chase looks at me. “How fast can you be ready?” he asks.
I groan. “Not as fast as Nolan,” I say. Couldn’t Chase pick on someone small for the first job of the day?
Nolan stops cleaning his glasses to give me the finger. I laugh. The kid’s all right.
“You have five minutes,” Chase tells me. “Meet you up at the lodge.” He gives Rico a not-too-gentle nudge with his foot. “Awaken, co-counselor. There are children to lead.”
Rico groans, and Chase grins. He ducks out, the door slamming behind him.
I grunt and swing my legs, still inside my sleeping bag, over t
he side of my bunk. I pick my jeans up off the floor, where I dropped them last night. They’re freezing. Oh, man. How am I supposed to put these on? But the alternative— wearing my boxers to breakfast—isn’t very appealing. So I slide my legs in, gritting my teeth to stop them from chattering.
“You should sleep with them.”
I look over at Nolan.
“Pardon?” I say. It comes out sounding really snarly. But I’m feeling kind of snarly, having to cram my toasty lower half into what feels like a bag of shaved ice.
“Sleep with your jeans, I said. You won’t even notice them in the bottom of your sleeping bag,” Nolan says. “And then you don’t have to get into cold clothes in the morning.”
I grunt again. It’s a good idea, but I’m not about to give him the satisfaction of hearing it. I slip a shirt over my head and slide my feet into my Vans. My morning cheeriness has evaporated. Now I have to take a leak too. I wriggle into my fleece jacket, then step outside.
Once I’m there, things start to look better. It’s freezing, yeah, but the sky is a clear blue. It’ll warm up.
Today’s the day they take us up into the hills and drop us off to ride.
For four days straight. No wake-up bells, no tables to set, no time wasted. Just miles and miles of empty forest, and beautiful trails waiting to be devoured.
At the drop-off point, we pull our bikes off the trailer. From here, the van driver will head to the campsite and drop off our packs. We’ll explore the trails a bit as we head toward the overnight spot.
We’ve only got our hydration packs with us. Food, water, repair stuff. Rico has one first-aid kit, Chase has the other. Chase also has a satellite phone from the camp. The senior counselors are required to have their sat phones with them at all times.
We get set up and check our bikes over. All systems go.
Rico rustles around inside a plastic bag and pops a handful of trail mix into his mouth. My stomach grumbles. I realize I’m hungry again, even though it’s only been a couple of hours. I look around at the sun’s position in the sky. I bet it’s after ten already.
Nolan’s got a watch. Of course.
“Yo, No,” I say. “What time is it?”
Nolan shoves aside the strap of his biking glove and peers at his wrist. His glasses slide down his nose. He slides them back up with his other wrist. I watch as the strap on his glove slips back down and covers his watch again. He shoves it out of the way and holds it with his other hand. He loses his grip on his bag of trail mix. It falls from his hand, but he sticks his foot out and catches it before it hits the ground. It’s a weird, comical mix of clumsy and graceful. “It’s ten seventeen,” he announces.
“Man, no wonder I’m starving,” says Seth. He unzips his bag and pulls out his own stash of trail mix. Everybody else likes the idea, and pretty soon we’re all sitting around on the grass, scarfing peanuts, raisins and M&M’s and listening to Chase tell us about some of the crashes he’s witnessed over the years.
“Here’s what you’ve got to remember, boys,” he says with a grin. He’s got us peeing our pants laughing about the guy who jetted off a boulder and did a face-plant into a pile of deer turds. “Your brakes don’t work in midair. Doesn’t matter how hard you squeeze ’em. But keep the rubber down, now.” He nods. “You’ll be all right.”
He waits until the last of our laughter dies away and we’re all sitting forward, waiting to hear his next story. Suddenly he’s all business. “I’ve got some news for you guys. Tomorrow, we’re going to be joined for the day by Mitch Woodgrove.”
My jaw drops. “Mitch Woodgrove?”
“The Mitch Woodgrove?” Nolan squeaks.
Chase nods.
“As in, Canadian freeride biking champion Mitch Woodgrove?” says Seth.
Another nod.
“No way!” Nolan hollers. “No freaking way!”
“How did you swing that?” Rico wants to know. “That’s the first I’ve heard of it. Did the program staff arrange it as a surprise?” He’s lying on his back, head propped on his water bag, hands linked behind his head.
Chase shakes his head. “Nah. He’s a friend of a friend. I met him at a party a couple of months ago. I asked whether he’d come to camp one day and share some tips for handling jumps and bumpy terrain. Ordered him up special just for you guys.”
“Right on,” I say. “Thanks, Chase.” I tie the top of my trail-mix bag into a knot and stuff it back in my bag. “That’s definitely something to look forward to.”
“Should be,” says Chase. “They don’t come much better than Mitch. And he was only too happy to come all the way up here, which kind of surprised me. But I guess he’s pretty keen on sharing his expertise with younger riders.”
“Wow,” says Nolan. “I can’t believe we’re going to get to meet Mitch Woodgrove. That’s just the coolest thing ever.”
“Uh, correction,” says Rico. “That’d be me. Mitch Woodgrove is the second-coolest thing ever.”
We laugh, and Chase gets to his feet. “All right, boys. Tea party’s over. We came here to ride. Let’s get at it!”
chapter six
The hardpack under my tires feels great as we hammer off into the bush. Every so often, there’s a little section that climbs or drops through the trees. We have fun with it, whooping and shouting as we hammer over the little bumps, looking for air anywhere we can.
It’s a beautiful day, and I’m so stoked that Mitch is coming that my issues with Seth have taken a backseat. I dip my head down and peek under my arm. Seth’s right behind me. He’s having a good time too. He sees me and grins, pushing hard off his pedals and exploding his bike straight up into the air. Bunny hop! He hoots when I give him one in return.
Things are definitely okay between us today.
After a particularly jangly section of roots, we come to the lip of a stairlike spread of rock that heads downhill. It’s weird how nature comes up with this stuff. The pitch looks exciting. But I’ve never run a long flight of stairs before. And these ones are all different lengths and heights. It’s pretty technical. I wonder how Nolan will handle it.
We’re all feeling pretty tapped out after that last section. But it’s not far to our campsite now, so we decide to keep going instead of stopping for a rest. Chase gives me the okay to go ahead and scout the rock stairs before the others come down.
I push off the lip and bump down, keeping my weight far back on the seat and riding easy on my brakes. It’s a challenging section, not like any stairs I’ve ever done. I have to be on my game the whole way down, thinking and staying loose on the pedals. I’m careful to only use the littlest bit of pressure on my front brakes. If I squeeze too hard, my front tire will stop dead—and my downward momentum will flip my bike over my head. I rely on my rear brakes instead.
At the bottom, I ease to a stop and move my bike off the path.
That was good fun. I decide that when everyone’s down, I’ll go back up and do it a few more times.
I turn and give the thumbs up to Rico, who rides down next. Smooth as a slinky, that guy. He gives me a grin when he’s down. I think maybe I’ll talk to him later about being a junior counselor. Maybe I can do the same thing next summer.
Nolan’s next. He’s been watching Rico and me carefully. I can hear Chase up top, reminding him to stay loose and use his rear brakes. Then Nolan’s off, wobbling a bit. Just when I think maybe he should get off and walk, he drops onto the first stair. No stopping him now.
Boy, was that ever right. There’s no stopping Nolan at all.
He plunges over the first few steps, then gets freaked out and tries to rein it in.
I watch as he hits his front brakes. Rico sees the same thing.
“Nolan!” he shouts. “Off your front brakes!” But it’s too late. Nolan’s into the spill. There’s no going back. My heart leaps into my mouth as I watch his back end tip up, up, up and over. Then he’s falling, end over end, stuff flying out of his pack, bumping and smashing down the whole mess of
steps. With every revolution, he gains speed.
At last, he reaches the bottom of the stairs and crashes to a stop. His bike lands on top of him. It looks bad. The universe suddenly shifts into slow motion when Nolan stops moving. No one says anything for a second. Even the birds are quiet. The bike’s rear wheel spins gently in the still air.
From the top of the stairs, I can hear Seth’s voice drifting to me. “Holy crap, man. That was a wicked endo. Is he okay?”
I look up. From the expression on Chase’s face, I can tell he’s thinking it’s going to be ugly. Nolan might have broken his neck.
Time speeds up again, and I take a gulp of air.
Rico and I drop our bikes and run to where Nolan is lying all crumpled and bent under the frame of his bike. Gear fans out around where he landed. His water bottle. His sunscreen. His glasses (not broken, thankfully). Lip balm. Trail mix. A map. A package of Kleenex perches in a tree nearby, like some random passerby found it on the trail and put it there for easy spotting.
From above, Chase shouts at me. “Don’t move him, Jamie!” He launches himself down the stepped rock slope on foot, slinging off his pack, his hands fumbling with the zipper of the first-aid kit before he even comes to a stop at the bottom. Seth follows, taking the stairs in big leaps.
“He might have a spinal,” Rico says to me. He’s breathing hard. I am too.
Jesus. A spinal? Out here?
“Nolan, can you hear me?” Chase says, his voice louder than usual.
Nolan’s voice is muffled, but it’s there. “I can hear you fine, Chase. You don’t have to shout.” My heart drops out of my mouth and back into my chest and starts beating again. Chase looks at me. There’s relief in the little smile on his face. Nolan’s not dead. And he probably hasn’t broken his neck, either.
As if to answer my thoughts, Nolan waves his arms weakly. “Hello? Can somebody please get this bike off me?”
