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Downhill Mountain Biking: Not Only for "Gen Z"

By: Samantha Reynolds

Standing on the precipice of Whistler’s Bike Park in the beautiful province of

British Columbia, I honestly thought I had lost my marbles. I couldn't help to think, "Who did I think am? An aging female Evil Knievel? A twenty-something with bones like rubber? A cat with nine lives?" With my heart fluttering faster than a hummingbird’s wings, I threw all caution to the wind.

I have always enjoyed biking. Growing up, sports were my outlet, my love. I

was the tomboy with a skateboard under her arm, surrounded by male friends many

years my junior. After high school, I entered the University of British Columbia where I

explored the numerous mountain biking trails the "endowment lands" had to offer. Yes, I

was athletic and yes, I enjoyed some extreme kind of sports but I was not ready for the

sheer speeds I would reach with little to no effort careening downhill on a mountain

bike. Travelling faster than I had ever before and handling small jumps, rocks, roots

and berms (the steep wall around mountain bike turns), this experience was not for the

faint of heart. To say I was nervous was an understatement.

Costumed with pads on knees and elbows, a full-face biking helmet and gloves

with padded knuckles, I was looking more like a sci-fi movie character than a 51-year-

old mom when I met Joe, a twenty-something Brit, and my guide for the afternoon.

As soon as we exited the gondola halfway up the mountain and before hitting the trails,

Joe tested my turning skills by setting pylons on a small incline. He demonstrated

angulation, leaning your bike into a corner and counterbalancing with your body.

Next, the brakes. I was coached not to suddenly pull on the front wheel brakes out of

panic as it can send you flying over the handlebars and into the emergency room.

Enough said. After a few more turns and tips, Joe, satisfied with my progress, and I, ready to

wet my feet and most likely my pants in the process, headed down to the mouth of the

first beginner trail appropriately called “EZ Does It.”

To say pushing myself off down this first trail was a no-brainer would be a lie. This was new and uncharted territory and I was terrified. I took a deep breath, swallowed hard and took a leap of myself. The bike felt solid under my body giving me a sense of security. I pushed my weight down onto the bike and loved the bounciness of the dual suspension and large tires, like a pogo stick with wheels. I felt like a kid again. Though a kid I was not. I

was surely one of the more senior people on the mountain. The majority were teens

and twenty-somethings, thrill-seeking young men and women.

The trail began simply enough, wide, packed dirt; however, the pitch of the hill

was deceiving because of the number of turns and I was surprised how quickly I was

moving without even pedaling. As I rounded my first two turns, and plunged deeper

into the forest, my senses came alive. The spicy smell of the pine trees combined with

the wet dirt and my own sweat invigorated me like a shot of caffeine making me

believe I was invincible. What sounded like a massive swarm of bees hissing around

me were other riders, partially hidden within the brush. Many of the trails ran parallel so

I could catch glimpses of other riders whizzing by; all of us free spirits experiencing an

altered reality.

I eyed Joe’s black and white helmet just ahead of me and pushed my bike

forward entering a short section of small bumps like a BMX pump track. Down and up,

down and up. My bike was flying as I gained momentum. My eyes watered blurring my

vision; I was on the verge of feeling out of control. Up the last and steepest of the

bumps, I gently tugged at the brakes but I was traveling much quicker than I realized.

Suddenly, the bike and I took off. Blackcomb Mountain’s glorious glacier stared right

back at me as my stomach dropped. My heart stopped. I froze. I was in the air - albeit

only a few inches but it may as well have been ten feet. Time stood still for what felt

like eternity but was more like...2 seconds...until my tires hit the dirt, safe and steady.

My rear end bounced in the seat and I let go of the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

My brakes squeaked as I slid to a stop. “Nice shredding sister!” Joe enthused.

I was still hyperventilating. And we were only halfway down! Joe and I completed three full runs down the mountain that afternoon. We explored some more challenging technical terrain involving narrower bits of trail, roots and minor drops as well as an intermediate trail with even more hairpin turns.

Re-entering life at the bottom of the mountain was like waking from an all too

real dream. I wanted to go back and do it again and again though my legs, lower back

and wrists were throbbing. I was spent, exhilarated and most definitely hooked.

Experiencing the Whistler Bike Park, I left my reality as I know it. No grocery lists, no

laundry, no dog to walk and no work headaches, and I stepped into another

dimension. A world of beauty, nature, speed, thrills, and fun. One I will never forget

and one I have promised myself to visit again soon. Why don’t you join me?

Samantha Reynolds lives in Toronto, Canada with her husband and son. If you would like to know more about Samantha, visit:

or you may contact her at

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