Every once in a while, for whatever reason, if you're really lucky, you might find yourself in an experience that's never happened before. To anyone. In the summer of 2003 I was fortunate enough to be on such a journey. Led by Chris Winter and his Swiss co-hort at the time, an adventurous mountain biker named Francois Panchard, myself, Sterling Lorence, Wade Simmons, Andrew Shandro and a small gaggle of Whistler shredders headed out on what would be
Big Mountain's first ever mountain bike tour. The trip? An 8-day long pioneering adventure through the Valais Region in southern Switzerland. Under the towering peaks of the Swiss Alps, on a vast network of trails that had barely ever been ridden before, we descended nearly 80,000 feet during the trip. Using chairlifts and gondolas, our legs and our lungs, and stringing together an insanely complex maze of trail, path, road and everything in between, we accrued what is still, to all of us, one of the most astounding mountain bike adventures of our lives.
At the time, it didn't seem right. The only other mountain bikers we saw were XC lycra locals riding gravel roads. We were some of the very first to hit these amazingly epic trails in downhill/all-mountain fashion. And at the time we knew it. We were pioneers, pirates almost, hoarding singletrack gold in an entirely foreign land - right from under their noses.
I recently returned to the Valais and was quite surprised at the scene that has risen since our group of marauding Canadians first ventured there. Not that our trip, and the subsequent feature in the March 2004 issue of Bike Magazine started the scene. No, this is not a feeling of entitlement, more one of warm reflection--that we were the first to catch on to what is now a thriving scene. It would be like being the first to ride Vancouver's North Shore, or Moab's slickrock, discovering G-Land or Mavericks if you were a surfer. Being a pioneer has a certain gravitas to it. You were there.
My visit to the Valais this time was spent riding trails vaguely familiar. I recognized peaks and draws from relatively minuscule moments of many months past. I talked to immigrant "bike bums" who have moved from Germany and France just to ride here. Trails were still being discovered, while old standbys like "The Brazilian" which Simmons named on our inaugural trip, are heavily ridden tracks known throughout the region.
As the seemingly infinite mountain loops and descents continue to be catalogued and explored, and as the Valais begins to emerge as one of the world's top mountain bike destinations on the planet, I thought it would be cool to take a look back at Swiss Bliss, pasted below the photos as it was submitted to Bike eight years ago. Incredible photography by Sterling Lorence, words by Mitchell Scott. Insane riding action by Andrew Shandro and Wade Simmons. Epic adventure by Chris Winter and Francois Panchard. Singletrack, gondolas, chairlifts and spectacular culture by the Swiss.
Swiss Bliss Burning brake pads, francs and vertical in the land of perfection
Words: Mitchell Scott
Photography: Sterling Lorence
The acrid stink of burning brake compound, purpled steel and seared flesh rises through a cloud of man-sweat. In the Valais region of south western Switzerland, where grapes grow beside the Rhone River and cows with brass bells graze alpine meadows 8,000 feet above, and gondolas and trains and chairlifts zip between the two with uncommon ubiquity, we’ve stopped because we had to. Our forearms are so pumped they could be full of spinach. Eyes are so watery and red they could be filled with sorrow. But they’re not. The trail beneath our tires is ancient. It is also perfect.
Formed by a scintilla of actions incremented to millions by great periods of time. 1,000, 3,000, 5,000, who knows, as the glaciers of the last Ice Age began to recede it’s possible people roamed this path 10,000 years ago. Now, the trail is four feet wide, worn that way by the traffic of civilizations come and gone. Primordial stones lay buried at each edge. Packed one step at a time, one age after another. It contours downward through mountains carpeted by tall evergreen forest. And it is fast. On one side lay a ditch with water trickling towards the Mediterranean, channelling its descent in and out of village; past slate-roofed farmhouses and cafes; meadows; and views…always views.
Down and down, the trail’s center worn to a smoothed rut from the plod of infinitesimal footsteps, an effect that burms corners magnificently. Miraculously, almost sacrilegiously, this trail has no name, but it does indeed exist.
What is perfect singletrack? You hear it often, from friends, the guys at the bike shop and even right here in this magazine. What exactly is it? What does it look like? Feel like? How did it get there? Where is it? Perhaps these questions can be answered in Valais, a 2,000-square-mile region in the Pennine Alps on the eastern edge of Lake Geneva, home to one of Europe’s most famous mountains, 12,700-foot Mont Blanc.
Ten mountain bikers from Canada have gathered in Valais to ride perfection…or at least, that’s what they’ve been told. With Whistler, British Columbia native Chris Winter and lifetime Valais local Francois Panchard as guides, with a host of local Swiss rogues as companions, this band’s mission is to pillage singletrack. All the while no one aware of what they are doing except themselves. “Why do those men laugh and hug?” the locals ask. “Why throw head skyward and scream with joy?” This voyage presented them with 80,000 vertical feet of descending in eight days. They are some of the first foreigners to ever experience Switzerland like this. The first to blend the modernity of lifts, the technology of all-mountain full suspension bikes and the antiquity of trails built from millennial leg, lung and foot.
Raggy mountain bikers don’t usually blow big cash on a plane ticket that goes halfway around the world to one of the planet’s most expensive country’s…just to ride a bike. Surfers go to budget beaches. Climbers dirt bag on desolate peaks. Mountain bikers go to Utah. What would make riders like Wade Simmons and Andrew Shandro leave the world-class trails of their North Shore backyard? Why would a government statistician blow off his fiancé, half his vacation time, and a good chunk of his savings to ride in the same clothes for over a week? Why would a bike shop manager from Whistler leave A-line? Our stories could all be laced back to friends who had their minds blown on a trip to Valais last year. They promised perfection.
Three years ago, 32-year-old Chris Winter, an entrepreneur and avid rider, started researching the possibility of guiding bike tours in the Swiss Alps, a place he had spent a portion of his childhood skiing, a place he had always had an infatuation for. His quest led him to 33-year-old Francois Panchard—a fellow not normal by Swiss standards. The son of a mountain climber, Panchard’s freaky green eyes and conniving grin belies a certain imbalance. He is not following the footsteps of his thirty-something peers, taking high profile jobs in New York and Paris, making heaps of cash in Geneva playing with oil baron cash, driving BMW’s with in-dash DVD players and wearing designer clothes and fancy watches. Instead, Panchard runs his own CD-Rom trail mapping business, spending day after day documenting the labyrinth of singletrack that drapes his country like a giant gill net. He lives high in the mountains in a tiny little cabin with his beautiful Hungarian wife, and almost every summer day he explores his homeland by bike. In the last four years he has gone from a tight, light cross-country rig (the Swiss mountain bike of choice) to a four and four all-mountain machine with disk brakes and wide rubber. Even still, he wants more suspension. Like I said, he is not a stereotypical Swiss.
But Panchard knows something most of his countrymen don’t. He is one of the very first in Switzerland to discover what could be the greatest jewel in the mountain bike universe. Lifts. Yes, lifts. Ski lifts, gondolas, tiny double chairs, trams, quads, funiclaires, trains that go to 12,000 feet. Hundreds of them. Everywhere. Idiot, you say, that’s easy. You’ve skied at Swiss resorts that have hundreds of lifts. You’ve travelled 50 miles in a day and barely walked. Everybody knows that. But that is winter. In summer it is a landscape dominated by hikers. Mountain bikers are nowhere to be seen.
“The Swiss mountain biker rides up the gravel road and down the gravel road,” explains Panchard. “They don’t ride singletrack and they think lifts are for wimps.” But Panchard, like he’s done most of his life, has gone against the traditionalist ways of his countrymen and swallowed his pride. He rides lifts with his bike all the time. Almost all of them—of which there are hundreds—allow bikes, some on platforms, some on little hooks, some you have to hold yourself. From the top of each one spreads a weave of hiking trail, cow paths and doubletrack that meander through some of the world’s most spectacular mountains. Some traverse, some go up, but once you’ve won an elevation of 8,000 to 10,000 feet, most go down—for a long way.
Worn smooth since the Dark Ages, by a people confined to a relatively small, rugged and mountainous land, with a knack for perfection and industry, the Swiss have made a labyrinth of walking paths, many linking farms and churches and villages from peak to valley bottom. And just like everything else Swiss, they are of superb quality. This is a country obsessed with time, so it makes sense everything is built with an ageless quality—local villages even hire unemployed residents to rake and manicure its proximate trail network. There are some 42,000 miles of them, they are naturally contoured and wonderfully irrigated, with drinking fountains and benches in the furthest reaches of every valley. But they are also special for another reason: very few have ever seen the roll of knobby rubber. They are virgin, fresh, unspoiled. Yes, Panchard is a lone sailor on a sea of gold.
On this day, Panchard has a capable crew—who understand the unclaimed treasure that envelops his very existence. We find ourselves high above the glitz of Verbier. Earlier that day we traversed narrow, derailleur claiming cow trail through alpine hued by an August dawn, descended to a decommissioned road, through winding, dipping singletrack as it runs beside a medieval aqueduct. Wondering across a steep forested slope, we then climbed 3,000 feet on gravel road high into the alpine, to a cross, and a hike-a-bike up a steep path that tops out somewhere near 9,000 feet. And here we sit, fairly blown.
The starting point of our ride, a quaint stone and log lodge hostel near the top of a ski gondola, is barely visible across the valley. We sit, eating cheese and sausage and chocolate, marvelling downwards at 7,000 feet of vertiginous relief to the Rhone. Francois readies his home fashioned helmet cam. He has a crazed look, like we’re about to ambush unsuspecting prey, absolutely certain we’re going to get away with it.
It seems like hours go by until we stop. Steep singletrack melds to wider, more rhythmic trail that rails through sub-alpine meadows with groundcover that is brick red, mustard and rust. Rotors sizzle. Eyes caked with dust. There is a collective tingle when we notice the Rhone is still an age away; it’s patterned vineyards and orchards and roads barely enlarged from the vista of before. And then into forest, where the trail widens even more, and burms and jumps emerge with regularity, and flow and speed and the clang of cow bells and bright green and cramping fingers and aching feet and rattling biceps and blurred forest and focus and elation rush upon you in a single wave of sensation. At the bottom, you don’t know what to say…so you say nothing.
After 12 miles of solid, uninterrupted descending we whiz through vineyards to a village where we buy beers and cappuccinos and sandwiches. We load our bikes into the trailer, crowd into our van and drive an hour up the mountain-walled Rhone Valley to another neat little gondola, two at a time, up to a mountainside village. We spin through the narrow streets where cute blonde children wander amongst shiny little sport scars and stilted houses from the 1300’s. We stop at a grocery store where the Camelbak is stuffed with wine and cheese and more sausage and bottles of weak European beer. Then it’s off to another gondola, this one smaller than before--a ski lift, up to a modern little hostel tucked above the bullwheel. On a sun draped deck we indulge on Lowenbraus and views of glaciers and ragged peaks and lush green valleys. We drink and eat and try to recall the thousands of spectacular intricacies of the day, and the day before that, afraid we’ll forget because there are so many worth remembrance.
This goes on the next day and the next until it’s a blur of rightness. Flow comes easier now. Over the course of eight days we ride an average of 25 miles, 2,000 feet of up, and 10,000 feet of down per day. We begin to feel like animals, travelling wide and far and long, each mile the bike becoming more an organic extension than a piece of metal, plastic and rubber. Rolling through villages, rushing to repair bicycles at rest stops, airing off of retaining walls, storming lifts rife with reek. The locals ask us why we’re so lazy. Why we don’t ride up the road like all the other cyclists. Panchard rambles in French that we like to ride downhill and that we’re Canadian, and the lean, weather-wrinkled old men with felt hats slap back disapproving looks. But they don’t know. No one here seems to know.
In Zermatt, a picture perfect ski village in the German-speaking Upper Valais, we cruise like a pack of wolves through streets lined with geraniums and Rolex shops and fur coats. We’ve got these five and five suspension bikes with overly stuffed daypacks and we’re not wearing spandex and we haven’t showered in days. People stare a lot. In the train station, littered with glitz and leather and wealth, we stand out like sore thumbs. We look like rogues that are up to something. We’re not cross-country riders, they’ve seen those before. We’re not boisterous British climbers, they’ve seen those too. We pile our bikes into gondolas and funiclaires, speak bad French and laugh overtly. We’re here to take their treasures without them even knowing what their treasure is.
We ride the apogee of Swiss ingenuity, a train up to Gornergrat, a lookout at 10,270 feet, where a four star hotel stares out at views of Europe’s highest peaks—the 15,200-foot Monte Rosa, right there. The Matterhorn, in your face. Mega glaciers close enough to refrigerate you.
We wait until the people with Tilley hats and graphite walking poles finish their business. The sun begins to set and the hikers and the trains have all gone. I fall in behind Simmons and Shandro and submit to a path that is more a living, pulsing vein than a trail. We are cells coursing to a preset destination, our direction already known, already pre-programmed. We travel in unison and only need but react to the subtle turns and dips and switchbacks of hard packed earth. The moment is otherworldly. Instinctual.
We spend the night in another immaculate chalet, high above the shimmering opulence of Zermatt. The Matterhorn fades through the window and someone says we may as well be kings. And there is that feeling that we have found it: Raiders that have sailed forever and finally landed on that dreamed of shore. The one that was promised to you, that made you take all the risks to get here, a place of copious treasure, too much to even conceive and there is no one else to fight it from, no rush to horde it. And now we’re here. In the land of perfect singletrack. Not in a single stretch, but in a trail that goes and goes…and then goes some more.
Maybe perfection is the addition of the infinite. Maybe perfection is built by the foot and exhumed by the tire. It’s hard to tell. But I ask you one more question: What will your little stash in the woods look like if you padded it down foot by foot? And you and your kin and their kin did that for 500 years? And there would be lifts up to the top of each one. Energy efficient, self-loading lifts and upward monorails, gondolas and pretty little red trains. Not because you are lazy. It’s that these rides are so huge, the relief is so damn big, riding from the bottom would kill most mortals. You toss in convenient villages and cafes to refuel. Lay down a complicated network of glacially fed runoff to dug out logs so you could stay hydrated. And benches with views and, oh yes, character rich chalets at the top of each one so when you wake, the alpine is right there, your trail is right there. And then, one day you snip the ribbon. Open up all the trails to be ridden by you and yours for the rest of all the days. Could this be perfect singletrack? “Yes,” you say. “Yes it is.”
When I read this words, I'm amazed by the prejudices that are showed here although you have been visiting Switzerland several times...
I'm a Swiss guy and I've started biking 15 years ago and since the first ride, I'm wearing baggy shorts and riding fat tires... I'm riding bikes starting at 160mm Travel (6,3 inches Speci Enduro) and ending at 203mm (Speci Demo). In 2001 for ex. I was riding the first Specialized Enduro... and I'm not the only one here...
The first time I rocked the trails you describe, was in the last Millenium... you are not the pioneers! You are only the first guys who try to commercialize that feeling of "Swiss montain culture" for bikers. Well I have some mixed feelings about that. Let me tell you why:
Swiss people are loving their mountains and are - in a modest wise - proud of their land. Not in a patriotic way, but they are proud to be respectful to the mountains and the nature. That's the reason they don't want too much "circus and funfair" in the mountains. We respect the trails. They are made by blood, love and sweat...
we ride it, but we do not scream the out in the whole world. We enjoy that silently like gentlemen and are very thankful for the moment and the people who Switzerland to what it is... we need to preserve that!
So please visit our country and enjoy it, but please respect the nature and be kind with the trails (not every corner needs to be drifted :-) ).
PS: The name "the brazilian" was given by Wade? Cool! I rode it before it was named "the brazilian"... I guess it was in 1981 with my tricycle and we called it "Joleduuliduliduliduuuuuhhhhhuuuuuuuu...." :-)
"We were pioneers, pirates almost, hoarding singletrack gold in an entirely foreign land - right from under their noses." In 2003??? What???
Maybe if his trip was 10 years earlier that would sound credible.
If they knew how hard it can be to get a gondola or chairlift to take along bikes they would know that they were certainly not "some of the very first to hit these amazingly epic trails in downhill/all-mountain fashion".
Anyhow, check out their website and you'll see that they offer 3 weeks for small groups. That cannot really be called "circus and funfair". So, loosen up and let them have their fun.
I stuck upon this on James Wilsons website, i think it catches very well some problems I am trying to adress:
Mark Twight:
"I'm an elitist prick and I think posers have polluted mountaineering. They replace skill and courage with cash and technology. They make the summit, not the style, the yardstick of success."
You can replace mountaineering with mountain biking and here you go...
Because there are many parks and not that many mountain bikers, the critical mass to make a bike park as good as Whistler is never reached. So I think we need more and not less riders, even the "unskilled haddies".
As for the remote tracks that need to be accessed with pedal power: there will always be only a few people fit enough to actually ride them.
To be very honest I have a very hard time to decide whether I like the sport to develop further. I don't do much of lift/shuttle accessed riding so I have a different perspective on such things. I don't even want to imagine how terrible it would be to see a Mega Avalanche race in places like singletracks from Gornegratt. I mean it's a some kind of profanation to me really. And lack of lift/shuttle/heli access is a good guarantee that many people won't put their foot in these places. Not unles they learn their skills and with it the respect to trails and dangers mountains bring - therefore ultimately, respect to their own lives. You earn access to such godly places ONLY by your hard work to achieve skills and fitness. Not with money spent on lifts and bike.
Coming back to the article - I do get similarly amused when I read the lines "...making heaps of cash in Geneva playing with oil baron cash, driving BMW’s with in-dash DVD players..." or phrases like "a tight, light cross-country rig (the Swiss mountain bike of choice)". I'm sure that coming back home from such an euphoric experience as riding the Swiss alps will loosen up people's tongues in one way or another, but it still has to be noted that the author doesn't seem to realize he is, in a remote sense, part of the same hypocrisy. He even mentions it himself - a plane ticket costing a million, biking equipment costing two and then all this boasting about pirates and pioneers and "weak European beer". And then comes that paragraph about Zermatt, the zenith of all this.
All in all, I'm not really all that much against what's being said up there, I love biking and as a foreigner who's ridden some of those very same trails a few years ago, I'm not really in a position to comment. It's just that people should be wary of putting bold words on the paper (...onto a website...) without thinking twice about whether they may not sound a bit offensive to someone who can have more insight into the topic at hand. Like the locals from a place that's some 8000 kilometers across the globe from their own places of origin/residence.
There was evidence of people in most places I went to in Switzerland but then I did not go expecting wilderness and did not seek it out. Perhaps I went to the wrong places and i should explore more? If so, where? Aletsch, Riederalp, Bettmeralp? Or is it that the focus on the resort like towns is wrong?
Simmons stays and will stay : un grand Monsieur!
,
WHAT AN IDIOT
"We’re here to take their treasures without them even knowing what their treasure is"
Someone take his passport away
So, you see: Swiss people are not "behind the moon" about mountainbiking! They are just on a different trail... B-)
But come on man, your words are so dramatic. You should write novels for Hollywood.
"At the time, it didn't seem right", "We were some of the very first to hit...", "And at the time we knew it". "We were pioneers, pirates almost, hoarding singletrack gold in an entirely foreign land - right from under teir noses.", "They are virgin, fresh, unspoiled. Yes, Panchard is a lone sailor on a sea of gold."
I am 45, had my first MTB at 20. At this time, terms such as freeride, riders or even baggy short were not existing, or at least not used in our sport. Suspension forks and disk brake manifest themselves in our secret dreams only. But trails were already there. And we were not so idiot to ignore the fun that they can offer us.
I remember riding Les Rochers-de-Naye (probably in 1987) with 1:25000 map, selecting the steepest section. I remember pushing to Fenestral Hut, going down to a trail which is still seldom ridden. I remember going Chanrion Hut, climbing and going back thru any single we found. Yes 20 years ago.
I was always very keen to share my discoveries and I did. But I think that there is a BIG difference between sharing and monetizing !!! And maybe this is what you are talking about. Being pioneer in monetizing the trails. For you to know: some part of Switzerland have already prohibit MTB and Valais is thinking about.
So yes, Switzerland is a paradise for MTB, but please respect its fragile nature, and apprehend it with humility.
Take the crowds to bike parks, give them riding lesson, have beer, sex, smoke and money there. There are the leisure park of 21th century...
Too much crap.
Completely agree with DaveritoCH.
But the pictures are nice.
all I can say is, that the european masters in downhillbiking were held in 1993 in my hometown: www.youtube.com/watch?v=GPB1q9oTxKI
when was that? 10 years earlier?
Just to reciprocate and give BC, Canadian perspective, I am used to climbing 1,000, 2000m to get to alpine that is so magnificent like that. So for us to find a lift or railway to take you that high is very unique. Now it also might mean that there are more people there but in Graubunden for example, it was not hard to find trails that didn't have lots of people and even if there were other people the meetings were pleasant and friendly. Therefore we did not experience crowds, could get to the alpine easily and that means we could ride day-after-day refreshed (we rode 18 of 23 days there - some days travelling, some days snowed out). That is what was special to us about Switzerland; the ease of getting to alpine, friendliness of people, fantastic infrastructure and quality of trails. Definitely the grass is greener effect if you know what I mean?
We were in Graubunden area and Zermatt/Wallis too. I/we thank you for that!
Nice story, good pictures, but a tad too romantic when it comes to reliving their own memories
- Bad Article
- and by the way the worst guiding company ever!
if you ever go to valais and need a guide look for www.besttrails.ch or www.x-trailguide.ch
@uncled: i think it was a joke for the old guy putting the finger on the map...
Sorry guys this is not the way it works....
To be very honest I hate GPS tracking for many other reasons. I think it contributes to destroying of many trails even on purely local scale. The idea of "secret trails" is disappearing, just as true "exploration". I mean peope are really not aware of how much they miss by using all this fun-technology, and it is such a fkng : I do feel so truly sad by being dissappointed with some of my best friends posting their "runkeeper" record on Facebook. People I would never thought to be posers.
It may sound stupid but I really feel like writing a "trail riders honour code". Maybe I'm a romantic, but I see nothing wrong with it, and I'm not a emo kind of romantic. It's really about humility and respect, I find mountains and wild areas as best places to feel small and humble. I see a lot wrong with "fun maximization, now!". To brig an extreme example: one day we might get to a technological level where anyone can get uplifted in some way to Mt-Everest - How incredibly horrible would that be?
Dealing with obstacles is what make us great.
It's really great to read your guys thoughts!
- Most of the trails (at least under 2000m-2500m) are riddable with modern trail bike.
- Free 1:25000 map: map.schweizmobil.ch/?lang=en
- Train take bikes: www.cff.ch
- Postal bus take bike and go high in the mountain: www.carpostal.ch/en
- Weather forecast is quite reliable: www.meteosuisse.admin.ch/web/en/weather.html
This is all you need to have real fun. See you on trails...
I liked this website www.trail.ch Super nice info but I had to use Google Translate a lot because my German sux
Swiss Pass was awesome and super easy to navigate with buses and trains - www.swisstravelsystem.ch/en/content/offer/tickets/swiss-pass
and from PB user flowzone - www.flowzone.ch
These maps were good - 1:20,000 scale too www.bike-explorer.ch
Migros and Coop to save money on groceries!
ahh i better stop now. I already miss it
/XC trails ever. I really agree with Th0m. There just aren't enough riders. Luckily because of this article on pinkbike, Switzerland should get more publicity (and hopefully more riders). I've riden nearly every dh trail here, and the best place to ride (I think) is either near chur or in Portes du Soleil.
So Lake Geneva is home to one of Europe’s most famous mountains, 12,700-foot Mont Blanc???? Well that's news to me because last time I checked Mont Blanc was located between France and Italy and it's just shy of 16,000 Feet... There's one thing that guy is no 'pioneer' in and that's acurate geography. Badly written article and hard to give it any kind of credit.
Having said that, Switzerland does have some amazing places to ride, just don't rely on Canadians to take you there...
as for the hungarian wife.... I've booked a trip there for this upcoming long weekend to find myself a Heidi. The other 6 weeks of vacation I had were filled with free riding all over the Alps:-)
ohja, what not to overlook, most of the farmers are closet downhillers who can school the most of us!
Ride on!!
and btw, SHANDRO AND SIMMONS AND STERLING LORENCE ARE ALL FROM BC.
so please - kindly shut the f*ck up.
maybe mitchell is from ontario, which is getting pretty close to being american from where I'm from. dunno. don't care either, just heard a rumor he's just calling Canada home.
have your happiness, its fine for me. I was riding all weekend in Italy. so HAHA :-)
As someone else said - there's an underlying reek of colonialism and superiority.
One of the locals, here in southern Switzerland was riding trails on a 80mm hardtail where nowadays the younger guns (tourists, perhaps?) ride dressed like them loony conquistadores.
But this old dog was riding (and still does) the same sans armour, with 1.95" section XC tires :-))
Come whenever you feel, enjoy the mountains, the food, "swissness" but just please spare us the condescending attitudes
wink, wink
Ciao,
Paul
Simmons and co were true pionners on the shore and I think the first to ride in Switzerland with "Style" understand "no-lycra". over.
The article is actually very disrespectful... Too bad, because I really love the pictures! Thanks for them!
You know, I've been in a lot of places where I felt like an explorer and/or pirate whatever... even though I was sure that some people had been there before me. Or done the same things as I had.
If someone told me he'd felt like that on "my" mountain, I wouldn't bitch like a little girl, I'd not only be damn proud, but also glad for that person.
This article was actually very good. Not necessarily brilliant... but it had its moments.
Shred in peace, hombres.
That said it's actually a real shame, because he really has a wonderful writing style, which I sure would like to see more of. Just sans the attitude...
Honestly, I feel like I'm the only one who actually read the whole post.
2012 maybe?