The sheer organic mass of the North Shore's forests is incredible. Our tires float over the sponge of decaying cedar logs that have become partially buried beneath untold quantities of forest matter that has been literally falling apart for centuries. As we leave the pristine world of the upper trails, the forest begins to change. The trees increase in size, and we enter the land of the big cedars. At any moment I expect to see a tall skinny blue creature go flitting through the branches above me. But Avatar thoughts dissolve as I fight to stay close behind Dre. He doesn't seem to want to take prisoners and rides fast. He masterfully crosses a mud pool on a stupidly skinny and slippery cedar plank and drops me. I am left behind, tri-poding my way through the bog like an awkward giraffe. Lucky for me, he waits ahead, on a rise in the trail, his breath steaming in the cold air.