Canadian Rockies

August 2019

In the B.C. backcountry, medical helicopter extractions are free. It’s a testament to Canada’s abundance of pristine places and a badass benefit of socialized medicine. I was sweating through my GORE-TEX ten miles from Banff National Park thinking a helicopter extraction could also be my only ride down. My friend John and I had spent the morning ripping uphill on dirt bikes. Now that we’d reached the peak at the WANDR Adventure MotoNav Rally, gravity was about to have its revenge.

Getting to Invermere, B.C. at the edge of Alberta where the Purcell Mountains meet the Canadian Rockies was a small victory in itself. In the week leading up to the event, John and I had seized his motorcycle engine on a practice ride, blew a trailer tire, and almost lost a bike to a torn ratchet strap during the last five miles of our thirteen hour drive.

Our objective for the weekend was to hit as many GPS locations in as possible in the event app, scoring the most points for the hard to reach places. Geocaching with the risk of broken bones. Basecamp was the campground at Horsethief Hideout, a stockade and teepee themed throwback to the old Canadian West. After a late night arrival and a few hours sleep, we received a brief orientation on the rules and emergency contingencies. At 8:30 AM a hundred riders divided into small teams and left camp.

We sped down a maze of forest roads and old mining tracks with backpacks full of gasoline and spare tubes. Every waypoint we logged in the navigation app brought us further up a glacial riverbed. Each flower lined path was more beautiful than the last. The Disney quality of the scenery did nothing to temper the adrenaline pumping through my veins. If I’d found a goofy animatronic bear singing around the next corner, I would have maced it.

After the high speed forest roads we reached switchbacks at the start of the alpine. The rocks got bigger and water crossings got deeper until the roads disappeared entirely. I was grateful for the carbon fiber armor on my engine case and pipe as we bounced our way to the top. I developed a strategy to accelerate into whatever scared me and either end up on the other side or spend ten minutes pushing and cursing. By the time we reached the tree-line, I was exhausted.

Our upward progress was steady until we arrived at the edge of the glacier. We probed for a path around the ice wall. Trails took us to waterfalls and sapphire lakes, but no route to the top appeared that wouldn’t require a safety rope and harness.

We moved to the next valley where the road ended in the cirque of another retreating glacier. After sweaty ascent to the foot of the ridge, I opened my throttle for the peak.

I maxed out my momentum two thirds of the way up and trenched my wheel into the feathery slate talus. I looked for John and found him with his bike on its side in a boulder field a hundred yards over. He’d already come up and tried getting back down again. “Don’t come over here. It’s sketchy,” he yelled.

That’s when I started thinking about helicopter rides. I surveyed my options and everything was sketchy. The way I came had fewer obstacles, but was also the steepest with a heavy boulder section waiting at the bottom. If I’d had cell service, I would have pulled up YouTube for a refresher on descending hill climbs.

I said fuck it and pointed myself downhill. Braking did nothing and I picked up speed. I lost control in the loose talus and veered off course near the bottom. I caught air over a small moraine and crashed into a second. The bike folded and pitched me tomahawking over the handlebars.

Cartwheeling off bikes is also a skill. I missed the larger rocks and landed with my pack to cushion the blow. I inspected the bike looking for a bent fork tube or broken triple tree, but the only damage was the new melted glass shape of my clutch lever and a missing can of bear spray. I managed to walk away with only an ugly bruise on my thigh.

Our efforts earned us a decent tally and we needed to reach camp by 5PM for our points to count. My arms couldn’t handle another alpine section anyway. We knew we didn’t get first and we didn’t get last. When our gas dwindled to reserve, we emptied bottles of fuel into our tanks. As we coasted into camp, the only navigating on our minds was to the nearest hot spring.