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Mountain-biking class teaches novices everything from trail etiquette to jumping logs
By CARRIE ALLEN
SPECIAL TO THE POST-INTELLIGENCER
Want to go mountain biking but feel intimidated by the sport's "racerheads," who write diary entries that sound like a foreign language -- "Sheer gonzo ... turned and bermed ... death cookies"?
Don't let these endorphin-pumped members of Washington's fastest-growing subculture intimidate you. Even if you're new to the seat of a mountain steed but still want to pedal the muddy paths that criss-cross the Pacific Northwest, there is a course designed especially for you.
On a heavy Seattle Saturday morning at St. Edward State Park in Kenmore, 20 novices in a blanket of spandex gather in a damp clearing. Bikes lie scattered on their sides across wet grass.
The group of 18 women and two men in neon-bright jackets are pattered by drizzle. All ears turn to instructor Leonard Francis, who stands on a hill in front of the group. This fortysomething biker demonstrates his veteran status by wearing bluejean shorts and hiking boots, and owning a bike covered in scratches and pings, trophy scars of his seven-year mountain-biking career.
This is mountain-biking "Boot Camp," a one-day course set up by Backcountry Bicycle Trails Club, a 400-member mountain-biking group bent on educating, advocating and most importantly recreating.
The camp is designed to train newcomers on everything from bike maintenance and trail etiquette to jumping logs.
"You won't find any racerheads here. This is no Mountain Dew commercial," says instructor Dominic Groves, a 35-year-old whose passion for the trails is contagious.
The gathered group includes temp workers, engineers and mothers of three who are as nervous on a mountain trail as a first-grader on a banana seat in the family driveway.
"Basically, I'm ignorant and I need an education," says Lisa Wininger, 46, from Portland. She's a small woman with immense energy, but she hasn't ridden her mountain bike in years. "What I need is some confidence."
She will get plenty of confidence, information and practice this morning. But it was mainly trail etiquette that prompted the creation of this Boot Camp four years ago.
Francis and others saw proper trail behavior as the key to stemming a wave of trail closures. State and county park officials have closed trails as a result of complaints that bikes were tearing up trails. Hikers say the silent and fast-moving machines scare them witless on what is supposed to be peaceful sojourns.
"Always yield the trail," Francis explains to the helmeted group. "If we're courteous, how can they tell us to get off the trail?" When passing a hiker on a trail, he explains: "Stop, dismount, stand to the side of the trail. Make eye contact."
This education in etiquette is even more necessary as more bikers go off-road. According to the Sporting Good Manufacturer's Association, in 1987 there were 1.5 million mountain bikers in the United States. Today that number has exploded to 8.6 million. And according to the association, most of those mountain bikers are here, on the West Coast.
Judging by the crowd of students and instructors at Boot Camp, these newcomers are just average folk who would prefer their outdoor adventure from the seat of a bike.
"They say: 'Leave behind nothing but your footprints,'" Francis explains. "Sorry, but those are my footprints" -- and he points to the knobby treads on his mountain bike.
Francis is flanked by four other volunteer trainers, making the ratio of student to teacher 4-to-1. He draws from a backpack a murky Ziploc bag full of all sorts of tiny tools: Allen wrenches, patch kits, extra chain links. With a Zen-like precision, he lubricates the chain of his bike, describing in detail the routine care and feeding of his machine.
The group mounts their steeds and cycle in an awkward line toward the first trailhead for their first drill.
"Ride to your level!" Francis pontificates. "Walk a tough section every once in a while!"
Even on the flat path, some riders go into "granny" gear. Wheels hit bark, feet touch to keep riders afloat, whole bodies clunk sideways on an unexpected turn. But even after this exercise in flailing front tires, the group begins to coagulate and flow, to become part of the landscape.
"Woo-hoo!" yell two bicyclists as they descend in a neat row, their voices mixing with the sound of swallows. The clickity click of spokes keeps the beat with a nearby woodpecker. Day-glow jackets buzz the tunnel of Douglas firs and hemlocks like strange insects.
"The 'woo-hoo' is a really good thing in mountain biking," says instructor Dave Kidder. "It shows your soul is really into it. It tells your friends something good is coming."
Women of all shapes and sizes predominate in Boot Camp. While 90 percent of the camp's students are women, on the trails that figure is reversed.
"It's a great place for gals to meet guys," Dominic says, referring to the regular mountain-biking trips the club holds. He met his girlfriend in just such a manner.
Boot Camp has been lauded in various circles for its women-friendly atmosphere.
Judy Baugh, president of the Women's Association of Mountain Bikers in Portland, is one of the Boot Camp students. She is partaking in the camp to figure out how to run one of her own.
"Women are so often blown off the trails by a spouse, or boyfriend, or son, who they can't physically compete with," she says. "This is the first coed club that's women-friendly. They go out of their way to support women."
Wininger agrees: "Because it was predominantly women, I thought it was really well done. They treated everyone impartially."
Mogul drills, brake drills, trail rides -- the students make their way through the day. The instructors are full of philosophical gems amid the moss-covered branches.
"If there's something you don't want to hit, don't stare at it. You think about it, you hit it!"
"Timing is everything!"
"Don't go to extremes when you're shifting gears. You'll shorten the life of the chain!"
"Train to fail, not to failure. Keep pushing yourself, but not so far that you end up getting so fed up you give up the sport."
The group comes down off the trails for the final drill -- the log jump. Their calves are now mud-splattered, their bikes nicked. These are the first marks of the initiated.
They are told to head for one of three logs, lined up in order of diameter. They are told to brake, to pedal, to pull their handle bars to their chests, hop the log, lift up their backsides to clear the back tire.
Instructors stand next to each log and catch the bodies as they wheelie too soon and hit the front of the log with the tread of their tires. Or bikes simply topple sideways into the bodies of the tutors. The instructors will go home with a few bruises they did not earn on the trails.
Francis is ecstatic when one of the students clears the logs.
"You did it!" he whoops, jumping up and down. "Ha! Ha! You did it!"
From such enthusiasm, confidence is built. And the students go away with plenty of it.
"Got that down. Now all I gotta do is work on my strength and stamina," Wininger explains.
It's time for graduation. The students dismount, dumping their bikes on their sides.
"We've taken months and months of stuff and put it all into one day," Francis explains.
The students collect their diplomas and head for their cars. They talk about their bikes, details of the terrain, even weather conditions. They are well on their way.
For more information on the Boot Camp, contact Backcountry Bicycle Trails Club at 206-283-2995 or visit the Web site at: www.bbtc.org
Carrie Allen is a free-lance journalist based in Seattle. Contact her at jeffcity@hotmail.com
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