2019 Trans BC Enduro Recap

To boil it down, this event was nuckin futs! After all that preparation and training, I realized there was so much that I just didn’t know how to prepare for. From day 1 stage 1, I was in deep and saw it through to the end: 28 stages raced over 132 miles, 33,000 vertical feet, and 6 unique zones. Here’s some highlights (and lowlights):

Day 1: Humble Pie

Geeked out and keyed up, the big day had arrived and it was time to kick this thing off and see what Trans BC was all about. It was an easy climb from Panorama Ski Resort with a few glimpses of fresh cut raw BC rut trail on the way up. In true Enduro fashion, there was an element of “hurry up and wait” at the start up top, but no biggie. It gave us plenty of time to watch several talented riders go over the bars and sample some dirt in the FIRST TURN OF THE WEEK.

Dropping in, I tried to keep the long game in mind. Turns out BC is too steep for that controlled approach, so pretty soon I was sliding and pinballing down a rut on the side of a mountain, scaring the hell out of myself and already feeling a severe lack of control right out of the gate. Finally I punched out down the last steep and into the finish where I scanned my timing chip out. Somewhere between flustered and exhilirated, I realized I was in pretty deep.

On to stage 2, the longest stage of the week, which turned out to be something like 4,000’ worth of drop in a little over 3 miles. At 19 minutes, and I was glad to be on the bike and in the zone long enough to relax and feel like I could handle this thing. After that we hit stage 3, then up to stage 4, a double black diamond trail that shook me to my core. I knew it was going to be gnarly, but Canadian gnar is a different breed. The start line volunteer mentioned a drop and then downplayed the rest of the run, so I had a little glimmer of hope that would soon be shattered by a barrage of steep technical off camber rocks. It turns out the drop I thought she was talking about wasn’t even a warmup for the real thing as I barreled off and bounced my way down, thankfully riding out what was no doubt one of the biggest features I’ve hit. Soon after, I found myself in a position I haven’t been in a loooong time: frozen. There I was, peering down a trail with absolutely NO CLUE what to do. All the technique and experience I’ve gathered, and absolutely no idea how to navigate this thing. Completely blindsided by this feeling, I used the adrenaline and sense of urgency to find a bypass on the side that was still full of big moves to get down. Somewhere along the way, my bike disappeared from beneath me, and I found myself running, regrouping, and simply trying to survive the rest of the stage. And that was the “warm up” day.

Day 2: Adventure Day/ Emotional Roller Coaster

A bit shellshocked from day 1, I wasn’t sure what to think for day 2. But I should have known it was going to be a monster when the promoter suggested we carry a water filter with us. My comfort zone had been rattled the day before, and it was left far behind as we continued on for 2,000’ of climbing AFTER riding both of the mountain lifts up. Backcountry BC gnar awaited us. Hike-a-bike is real, and we experienced several hours throughout the day with bikes across our shoulders scrambling and dancing our way through scree and boulder fields to multiple peaks. It was 4 hours before we reached the start. I honestly don’t remember much from stages 1-3 that day, and I think that’s most likely some sort of coping mechanism. But stage 4, with its surreal starting point and all that it held for us, rocked me again. Things got dark in there as I collected 3 hard spills, ragdolling myself into cartwheels, face plants, and a full on bulldog slide down a snow field. The mud was deep and the stage was long, so I finished on fumes and thoroughly disappointed in my run. So much so, that I removed myself for a few minutes so no one would have to deal with my internal battle/ possible childlike tantrum. After gathering my wits and realizing the mistakes couldn’t be undone, I came back to the crowd and listened as others shared their stories of way worse spills and hardships. After the fourth rider came down covered head to toe in mud, I realized my run wasn’t all that bad. On to stage 5, I shared some laughs and relaxed a bit. I knew I was rattled, so I thought it best to be conservative. This was the right strategy, as it put me feeling strong for stage 6, and had me hungry for some fun on the super dynamic and varied stage 7. Jumps were sent and gnar was shredded to the very end, wrapping up one of the rowdiest days I’ve ever spent on a bike.

Day 3: Equipment Check

The crowd gets quieter with each day, with more nervous laughter filling the silences. Gatherings include more medical equipment as the terrain takes its toll. We pedaled to the top to kick off what would be a very demanding day on everyone’s machines. The first 3 stages were much more familiar to me, being held on established trails with lots of rocks and requiring pedaling to keep pace. The turns were bermed and easy to read, so I felt right at home and kept an easy mind throughout the day. However, the square edged rocks claimed more than their share of wheels, tires, and deraillers, leaving several riders on the sides of the trails making repairs. All that familiarity came to an end as I dropped into stage 4’s steep loam, deep with dark dirt and a flavor of riding that I was just getting my first tastes of. A handful of surprise drops kept it spicy, bringing you into and throwing you off of manmade wooden drops, flying deep into the loam when you least expect it. I nailed these moves and was having a blast until the trail spit into a muddy bog braided with wet wooden skinnies. Understanding full well the consequences of these, I jumped off, lifted the bike, and kept my knees high for a run to the finish. Catching my breath, I watched as another rider’s week was ended as the medical staff confirmed he’d broken his collarbone. Halfway Through.

Day 4: My Breaking Point

Another new zone outside of Fernie, BC. A beautiful climb with more amazing views took us to the top where stage 1 dropped in hard and fast to a set of corners that claimed many people. Knowing the difficulty of access, we’d been warned that it was raw, overgrown, and the rules of safe trail building no longer applied. I took my deep breaths, scanned my chip, and dropped in, immediately over my head. The steeps were relentless and exposed, requiring that you surrender any momentum control and focus on landing in the pocket ruts that would be the only hope of staying on the trail. Each of these were connected with high speed off camber sidehill sections that were consistently only about 6 inches wide and littered with all kinds of rocks and roots that wanted nothing more than to throw you off the side of the mountain. To further explain the exposure, I experienced a full on vertigo response in one of these sections. My GPS told me later that 30 mph speeds were had as well. I stiffened up and was thrown by a root, tumbling down trail about 30 feet. Returning to the bike, I realized I wasn’t even shocked at this process any more. A while later as I skidded down a rut towards one of the pocket berms, an official came out waving his arms, which usually means rider down. I veered off, and of course the bike was swallowed as I performed the human tomahawk move that I’d been perfecting throughout the week. Somehow I regrouped, took some deep breaths, and finished the run strong. I caught my buddy that passed me earlier, and we had a blast through the roots and turns to the finish.

To understand better what was about to happen, you need to know this: I don’t ride wet trails. Never been in a region where that was condoned or even possible. Also, roots are foreign to me except for the limited time I’ve spent in the Pacific Northwest. Therefore, I’ve spent the last 9 months preparing for this race with the simple caveat that “as long as it doesn’t rain and put me in wet muddy roots, I’ll be ok.”

Now, back to Fernie, where I found myself taking shelter under a tree on my way to stage 2 in a torrential downpour. Still shaken from the previous stage and knowing good and well that it was unrideable in the rain (confirmed later by all the guys that slid down it on their butts), I watched as the water gathered and flowed down the road, leaving absolutely zero doubt that the trails were being doused and flooded right then. And I’m not talking about an inconvenient amount of mud, I’m talking about running water on trails that are so in-your-face difficult that everyone I know would struggle in perfect conditions. I stood alone in the rain, soaked to the bone despite my rain gear, stuck in my own thoughts. It would be perfectly reasonable to bow out. To just admit that I don’t have the skillset or experience for the conditions. Hell, there was a group of people who’d already done exactly that for the week, not to mention all the ones on crutches and in slings that hadn’t listened to that inner voice. I stood there weighing my options and thinking through what the next year would look like if I were to quit. Knowing full well that I’d struggle to lift my eyes up to anyone that asked, having to tell everyone who sent support and encouragement along the way that I gave up when it got nasty. Add all this to the fact that I had no idea where to go except for the start of stage 2, I found myself pedaling slowly in the downpour, going somewhere deep in that lizard brain that those closest to me are all too familiar with. I pedaled through mobs of riders taking shelter in the woods and arrived to a quiet and empty starting line for the next stage. Something in the back of my brain took over, and I realized I was in that “one more step” mentality as my chip scanned and I kicked off into the storm. With zero expectations, I was soon flowing with the water, catching each rutted corner. My bike skipped and skidded through the roots, feeling like some sort of dance as my hips moved and flexed with the chaos. A perfectly balanced corner linked into another, and I saw a mud roost take flight as I snapped a right hander that confirmed all the work I’d put in to get ready for this thing. Soon I heard myself hollering and growling out as I mashed the pedals, putting everything I had into that mud, ripping gouges out of the stage that threatened to end my week.

Fueled by the roller coaster of emotions and bathed in fresh sunshine, I continued the grind to the third and final stage of the day. I stopped along the way at what I considered the crux move of the stage: a three story chute to the road, followed by a steep drop into a hard right hand turn. Miss the rock that was holding the turn together, and you’re tumbling. I watched a few riders come through, and continued to the top. My mind was quiet and focused, visualizing success across that chute and turn. Breathing steady, I felt my vision narrow in as I scanned my chip and dropped into the stage. I was in place of power, willing myself to execute the techniques I’d learned without hesitation. Braking later, letting the bike and body move about, and staying loose through the chunk. The steeps came and I leaned into them, riding with intention and finding myself in the right gear every time I wanted to let my legs drive into the pedals. It wasn’t until I was across the road and dropping into that right turn, narrowly catching the rock, that I realized I’d already charged through what I thought would be so scary. I mashed the cranks in a physical celebration, stomping the bike through the corners and growling out once again. My eyes read the final section, and there was zero hesitation as I blindly connected a series of mandatory gap jumps, manualled a bridge for the camera, and sprinted to the finish.

Day 5: My Flavor

We day tripped across the border into Alberta and a place called Crowsnest: beyond beautiful with panoramic mountain views all around. It didn’t take long for me to realize that all my time in Sedona and Colorado had prepared me for this day. The trails matched my rhythm and skillset, letting me look further ahead and read the turns and terrain from a place of aggression rather than survival. The rocks offered traction, and I nailed the steep chutes. All of that turning technique I’d worked on in the previous months started to show as I trapped momentum through the sweepers, and exited the tighter turns with more speed than I’d entered with. My footwork was dialed and I danced my way down the mountain with manuals and gaps galore. I even felt the fitness and nutrition come out to play as I sprinted sections without any sense of fatigue! Powering through, the day flew by with minimal incidents and several clean runs.

Day 6: You Can’t Always Get What You Want

I’m a believer in the science that we humans tend to remember experiences based on how they end. Knowing this, I wanted a clean day, and one of my goals for the race was to be prepared enough that I could make moves on day 6. I’d eaten well, stretched, and my bike was clean and prepped to finish strong. The first two stages went smooth, as I entered with the mindset to keep it somewhat conservative for the day. There were slick roots that threatened my goal for clean runs, but I hammered through with the understanding that stage 3 was the day’s nemesis. Another bike park double black, the elevation profile and terrain threatened to rock me. It delivered on all fronts with technicality, steepness, and overall gnar factor without a doubt. But I’d come a long way that week, building the confidence and skillset to navigate it without any issues and even having some fun along the way!

With that one finished, I enjoyed my snack in the shade and made my way to the final stage of the week. A crowd gathered near the start, and the information started rolling in. It was once a hiking trail up the mountain, repurposed for bikes and offering some serious elevation drop through the woods. Rider quotes were relayed from the finish, further bursting my bubble as I realized that this one was in fact the toughest of the day. I gathered myself, waiting patiently in the starting line until was my time to drop in. The trail that awaited shattered any possibility of my graceful finish. I lost control for a split second and found the edge, quickly being thrown of the bike and down the hill. By the time I was done with that full body tomahawk, I was no less than 40 feet below the trail. Thankfully my bike was only about 10 feet off, so I scrambled up and tried to regain my composure for the remainder of the trail. The entire run was super steep, the soil more clay based than loam. This means that gravity and traction give exactly zero shits how hard you’re squeezing the brakes, leaving you to slide your way down in an attempt to stay on trail. I cleaned several things I didn’t know I could, and then arrived at another monstrous chute that brought me to a stand still. Another section that I looked down through and realized I just didn’t know how to ride. But the sense of urgency overcame me, so I hopped to the side of the bike, held the bars, and bulldogged the bike as I slid on my butt. Coincidentally, I passed three other riders with my newfound technique. From there it was a hammer fest to the end, with a few jumps and a steep ramp down to final finish of the day. Some strange mix of relief, frustration, and not wanting the week to be over yet put me into a few minutes of quiet reflection. Definitely not the way I wanted the last stage to go, but it was perfectly in tune with the event overall.

Without a doubt, Trans BC Enduro was the most challenging and difficult event I’ve ever experienced. It pushed me well past my limits and shattered my comfort zone repeatedly, throwing me blindly into challenge after challenge. I put more effort into preparing for it than I have for anything else, and it humbled me daily. I’m thankful for the effort I put in, but there’s just nothing that can fully prepare you for what this event holds in store! Misery, fear, discomfort, frustration, and the purest sense of accomplishment I’ve encountered, I think I may just have to dive in and do it again.

Day 1 Video: Yours truly at 4:18, shook!

Official Trans BC Enduro Day 1 Video

Some amazing day by day videos and photos from the mega talented media crew are over on PinkBike: TransBC Enduro Media