There’s hardly any other sport that depends so much on the surface as mountain biking. In football, there’s grass; in tennis, clay. Swimmers have water; skydivers have air. We’ve got a trail. And it can be anything: brilliant, mediocre or an absolute nightmare.
It’s much the same with surfing. But nowhere near as bad. If the waves are rubbish, you just paddle back to the beach, order a beer and soak up the sun. We mountain bikers have it tougher: we’ve just clocked up 1,000 metres of elevation gain, earned through sweat, time and at least one brief curse. So now we’d better have a trail. A good one. A very good one. Otherwise we’ll get impossible.
It’s particularly frustrating when someone has recommended the trail to us.
Richie Schley is familiar with the problem
Freeride pioneer Richie Schley once summed it up perfectly: “Never ask Wade Simmons about a trail. He always says: ‘Great trail.’ Then Schley goes there – and finds it rubbish. The reason: Wade Simmons becomes the happiest person in the world when he’s on his bike.” No matter what’s under his tyres.
Unfortunately, I’m not Wade. I’m Richie. I’ve got high standards.
For me, a good natural trail is narrow, but not too narrow. I want to be able to have a go, and for that I need space. I want to find my own line, so please give me a few options. Rocks? I’d love that. But please, make sure it’s solid. I can do without that scree where the tyre slips sideways with every turn. It can be steep, but not so steep that I’m on the brakes for kilometres on end and the front suspension dives like a submarine.
I want flow and speed, but also technical sections. Balance, bike handling, concentration. And then, please, a few features: drops, roll-offs, steep sections, hairpin bends, tricky traverses, skinnies. Little tests of courage along the way. Just the mountain biker’s entertainment programme, really.
People are the problem
Of course, everyone has different tastes. I know that.
That’s especially true when it comes to trails. A cross-country rider on a hardtail, with a thing for lactate and a saddle at skyscraper height, might recommend a trail that makes me wonder whether he hates me.
But if, for example, a freerider asks another freerider about a trail, they’re surely entitled to expect that both have roughly the same idea of what ‘awesome’ means.
Unfortunately, no.
The phenomenon of trail grumblers is, however, still in its infancy.
The older the sport gets and the better the technology becomes, the higher the expectations rise. In the old days, it was enough if it gave you a proper jolt. A good mountain bike trail was one you could somehow manage to ride down at all. The appeal lay in finding out what was rideable with poor suspension, odd geometries and tyres from the Stone Age. Today, things are different.
To make matters worse, as your own trail experience grows, so does the bar. I say this only ironically: #DontGoToWhistler. Once you’ve experienced the trails of British Columbia, you’ll look at some of Europe’s bumpy tracks in a different light. And bike park tracks? Let’s put it this way: once you know what’s possible, you’re spoilt for choice.
That’s why I now take a similar approach to trail recommendations as I do to film recommendations. To be on the safe side, I ask to see their filmography – ideally their personal top five. If it includes La La Land, Spider-Man and Avengers, I don’t even need to ask about the trail tip. I already know what’s coming: “Absolutely brilliant!” – and I’m going to be sick.
So: Thanks, but no thanks.
The Skull Trail
I had a big let-down at Lake Garda. I asked one of my best riding mates about his favourite trail. I must admit: it’s a tricky question, because there’s hardly a single trail at Lake Garda that deserves to be called a ‘favourite’.
“Skull Trail,” he said. “Really cool.”
So I struggled my way up the Altissimo in the sweltering sun. Metre by metre of elevation gain. Sweat, pain, anticipation. Once I reached the top, I was apparently expecting the nirvana of mountain biking.
What happened?
Debris in the line of fall.
I wore away my hard-earned altitude gain, along with a not inconsiderable amount of my brake pads. Flow? Not a chance. Features? More like rocks. Entertainment? Above all, I had the chance to reflect on my life choices.
Trust no one
Ever since then, I’ve had one ironclad rule: never trust a trail tip. Not even one from your best riding mate.
After all, ‘really awesome’ can mean anything. For some, it means adrenaline, a sense of flow and a racing heart. For others, apparently, it means 40 minutes of braking on a downhill run and hoping the rim holds out.
Thank you, Wolfi Watzke.
What do you think? Have you got the hang of these trail tips? Or are you in the same boat as me?
I’d be interested to know – I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.
And I’d be especially keen to hear an awesome trail tip – ha ha!
Dimitri Lehner
Editor