Opinion - Where's Your Spot?

I was fortunate to grow up on a massive slice of property that included a big pond, complete with a tiny row boat, and enough acres to make a ten year old kid feel like he was pretty small. My little slice of heaven was made even better by it being surrounded by more forested land, much of which seemed to be untamed wilderness at the time, but looking back was maybe a few square miles of trees with a mess of trails running through them. It was in those trees, just about as far away from my parents as I could get, that I had ''my spot''.

Ten year olds can be industrious little buggers, especially when it comes to building forts, and I'll admit that I probably put more work into my tiny hideaway than I did into any schoolwork or menial labour jobs that I had in my later years, but the payoff was well worth it. Picture this: a growth of blackberry bushes the size of at least a few school buses combined, with hundred foot-plus cottonwood trees standing up through the tangle of prickly vines in a way that made the whole thing look like it could stop an army. What it couldn't stop, though, was a kid on summer break that was armed with a pair of sharp clippers that I used to cut a tunnel fifty feet through the vines. I have no clue how I still have all my digits after all that, but my three foot by three foot shaft ran to the base of one of those giant trees, on which I had assembled a platform about fifteen feet up and just above the blackberries. A bunch of poorly attached steps were nailed to the tree for access, and although I recall only using a single nail for each one, they never pulled out under my weight. And while it wasn't a secret, you'd have to look hard to be able to spot my perch from a mere twenty feet away, but even then there was little chance that you'd find my nearly hidden entrance around the back. This all made my spot quite the hideaway from the outside world, a place where I could see out but no one could see me.




That big cottonwood and the bushes surrounding it were long ago levelled to make room for shitty, overpriced condos (maybe I'm just a little pissed about that still), but it doesn't seem like that long ago that I would spend hours and hours doing who knows what in my spot. Ten year olds don't have much to do or worry about, especially a young me, but I'd go there anytime I didn't want to be at home, and it mattered little if I was there with a friend or on my own. All kids should have a place like my spot, but it's even more important that we have a spot to go to when we're adults. After all, having to grow up can present a lot more challenges than trying to find enough spare change in your mom's purse to buy a bag of candy (I still do that, by the way) or worrying if you're going to get picked for the soccer team.
For some people, including a lot of us here on Pinkbike, simply getting out on the mountain bike serves that purpose - the act of riding takes us away to our own special place, which happens to be anywhere their wheels roll to. But for others, and especially for myself, there are one or two places in particular that make us forget about all those dumb adult things that are usually lingering away in the back of our heads like the mouldy cheese in the back of my fridge. One particular and very unassuming little dot on a hill atop a mesa in Utah now serves as my platform above the blackberry bushes, and the fact that I only get to this trailhead a few times each year makes it all the more special. Yes, a remarkable trail that was carved in by an amazing builder starts on top of this little zit of a mountain that stands maybe a few hundred feet above the flat top of the mesa, but there's more to it than just the actual trail. The thing is, I'm not sure what exactly that is, but I feel like I could sit on top of this treeless hill for hours at a time. Maybe it's the scenery, or maybe it's because some of the best rides that I've ever had began there.

Or maybe, just maybe, it's down to the fact that it's so far removed from my everyday life, which is exactly what we all need every now and then. Relatively few mountain bikers reach this spot, at least in relation to the two-wheeled traffic that I'm used to here in British Columbia, and when I'm up there I'm not thinking about overdue bills, oversensitive and easily offended people, my pestering strata council or how my van is surely about to breakdown. Sometimes I'm not even thinking about riding my bike when I'm sitting on a rock up there.

In fact, I couldn't tell you what's going through my head when I'm up there, which is probably why I feel the way I do about this spot. Like most of us, I'm at any random trailhead a hundred or more times every year, and there are plenty of lookouts in my neck of the woods that provide views worthy of being special, but none of them can compare to my platform above the blackberry bushes, and I'm talking about both the real perch from my childhood and the metaphorical one in Utah when I say that.

I think and hope that most people have their own spots, be it a thirty hour drive south into another country or a short stroll from their front door, and that we all visit there when time permits. We're all getting by and hopefully having more than just a little fun as we do, maybe with a little help from a special spot that you call your own.