champers

Astonishing the level of skill and risk tolerance the most bonkers partakers of this sport have attained. In 1980 I took one of the first two mtn bikes to come into Canada for a rip in the UBC Endowment Lands in Vancouver. I was 21, it was a bone-stock, suspensionless Stumpjumper. I remember it all so well. I was at 10th Avenue Cycle, where I knew the mechanic. He sees me in the shop, comes out with this big grin, says "Come see what we got..." We walk into the back room, where this thing hangs from the rafters. I look at it, my eyes widen. I get it right away. "They call it... MOUNTAIN BIKE," he says, savouring the words. "I want it," say I. "Come back Saturday," he says. "We're getting another one. We'll go for a ride." I come back Saturday, we take the two bikes out to the trails, among the first riders to leave mtb knobby tracks on dirt in Canada. I can't believe what it, what I, can do. I am hooked. I had to wait till '83 till I could afford my first, a Nishiki Bushwacker. Not as well made or as tough as the Specialized. But I had a ton of fun on it. Sold it to a neighbour in '99 for 20 bucks. Fool. I was a risk-taker back then, with some degree of skill -- got the scars and busted up bones to show for it all. But I would never do what these freak of nature mofos do now. Glad they're finally well paid for their bravery and skill.

He was found days later, wandering about, somewhat confused, but happy, that he'd landed in another county.