I’m standing above a line with James and Geoff. We’re all confounded by this one. I’d never seen anyone ride the move at that point. I’d approached more than once but failed to drop in when my front wheel slipped out on the loose off-camber shelf that leads in. The only route that looked safe was on the right, but that’s where the camber is worst, and I knew I’d just slip out again. After some time talking it through, like three of a golfing foursome deciding on clubs, I notice a thin line higher up and further rider’s left. It’s more exposed and steeper, but without the camber found on the right, and there looked to be a spot that wouldn’t throw me over the bars.
This isn’t some massive drop or rock face, but it has some unique challenges. After the hanging shelf at the start, there are two large, steep steps. The whole thing is off camber, but grip should be fine on the granite. The challenge is that the next shelf, after the first step, angles back toward the rider, making it seem that only a perfect unweighting of the front wheel will prevent you from going OTB, pitching you too far down the hill to avoid the ER. And yet there it was; on this day, a way I could see through.
I saddled up, made my approach and clunked through the challenging part unscathed. Unfortunately, I hadn’t planned for what happens next. I slid out harmlessly, which still felt like a win.
Uncle Dave Tolnai on Big Smooth. This roll has a narrow ladder bridge entrance, is steeper than it looks, and is quickly followed by an abrupt corner. For many riders of Expresso, this is a binary move; they try it, or they don’t. self portrait – Dave Tolnai
Which comes first, our ability to see a path through a challenging line for ourselves, or the ability to ride the line? Did I see the line differently because I had gained a new skill? Was I feeling stronger? The conditions were the same, and granite doesn’t change outside geological timescales, and yet the rock looked physically different to me.
This phenomenon applies only to specific trail features like jumps, rock faces, steep chutes, skinnies, or combination moves that sit on the edge of a rider’s abilities and confidence. In particular, I’m talking about technical features where we need to look closely to determine whether we’re going to make a bid or choose a ride around. Or worse, to take the walk or climb of shame. Call it binary riding; you try it, or you don’t.
Here on the North Shore, these features are found on most trails. Even Expresso, a line most beginners can ride, has moves that many riders choose to ride around. As you continue into harder and steeper terrain, these moves become more frequent, and they are a regular component in many of the rides we do.
Some moves do change. This one used to have dirt packed in the crevasse I’m on here. Now that it’s all gone, you need to ride on the outside edge of the rock, to my left, because it feels like my flat pedals will hit both edges if I ride down the middle. I haven’t ridden it since the dirt disappeared because I no longer see success when I peer down from the top. Photo – Dane Perras
Each move that riders don’t attempt every time they approach it has its own calculation. There are moves I avoid in the wet or when I’m not feeling my A game, and a few that I usually ride, but sometimes decide to stop and look at first. There are others that I look at the first few times and then start riding right in. There is a pretty big range here, but these consequential (to me) moves are scattered all over the North Shore.
There are many reasons for this. It may be because I haven’t ridden the trail for a long time, or because I’m coming back from injury; all the usual excuses apply. Whatever the reason, the fact is I’m scared, and I need to calculate whether I’ll come out the other side on my bike. I stand at the top and sometimes at the bottom, rubbing my chin and giving it a look. Ideally, I’ll watch another rider clean it first, but that’s most helpful when their ability isn’t too far above mine.
For a long time, I didn’t even look down this move because I didn’t want to do it. When I looked at it the first few times, I didn’t like what I saw. The line I eventually chose, rider’s left, is rougher and requires a turn. When you look down from the top, it aims you directly into a tree. The rider’s right line is straight, but it requires a lift to get over the hole partway down. I’m not sure I have the skills for the right line, but I hope to work up the nerve. There is another newish rock roll above this one that can be done in combination, but that remains a work in progress, despite other riders saying it’s easier than the one you see above.
The unusual thing is that the same move can look different, sometimes in the same week. One day I’ll stand at the top and see the line, and maybe it will look easy. If it’s a rockface, the transition at the bottom won’t look too abrupt, grip (if braking is required) will seem plentiful, and my projected exit speed will be deemed manageable. Obviously, all of those tangibles combine to form an impression, but what always surprises me is that the line actually looks different through my eyes.
Some moves do actually change. The dirt at the bottom of rock faces will erode after a rain, wood looks slippery when it’s wet – because it is, and sometimes gaps get pushed further out. What I’m talking about are moves that haven’t changed at all. The light will always be a little different than the last time I was there, but the angle of a rock doesn’t change, and usually gaps are the same size and skinnies are just as skinny. How does something that looked impossible morph into something palatable, through the same eyes on a different day, and vice versa?
This move became a game day decision for awhile when I was going through a slump, but it’s the exposed corner you have to make at the bottom that scares me.
It’s probably easier to list factors that don’t influence confidence in the saddle, but there are a few big ones. Obviously, your bike is a huge factor. Does it feel solid and well-tuned? Are your tires fresh or getting bald? Do your brakes need a bleed? Do you have enough travel, and is your suspension dialled in? If your bike feels clapped out and your levers are wandering, it’s tough to generate confidence. Familiarity plays a big role as well. Some riders in my crew are absolute shredders on Seymour, but their bravado ramps down when they come over to Cypress, and vice versa. Confidence seems to exert the most impact on how we see the line, but that’s built from several factors that can change day to day.
This move isn’t likely binary for me.
I stood at the top when I was having a good day and decided to drop in.
I doubt I’ll ever do it again, even though it worked out fine and felt amazing.
There is something similar going on when I’m approaching a move that is very common on the North Shore. I picked up a couple of critical tips a long time ago that I pull out when I find myself hesitating, dropping into a rock face or chute that I’m normally comfortable with, and the most important one concerns vision.
In both skiing and mountain biking, an aggressive forward stance is essential for performance. When you are in the back seat, control is compromised, but that position can be instinctive for us upright apes. When we feel cautious, we keep our heads back for protection, since our grey matter is quite helpful to the project. This instinct messes with our performance, confidence and, in the case of a steep roll-in, vision. When we peer over our handlebars from too far back, everything looks steeper and nastier. It’s tougher to get a good perspective on what’s ahead, and we are likelier to take the ride around. A long time ago, someone told me to roll in with my chin ahead of my stem.
That exaggerated position continues to help me in situations when I’m feeling unreasonably intimidated by a move I know I can do. Beyond seeing the line from a less intimidating angle, I’m in a much better place to shift my weight and maneuver the bike. This doesn’t always get me over the edge, but it always makes the move appear more palatable.
Figuring out how to ride challenging moves is part of what has kept mountain biking on the North Shore and elsewhere, exciting for me.
I don’t need to feel the charge of approaching my personal edge on every ride. Sometimes I simply want to go for a pedal and enjoy the woods, particularly when I’m solo, but there’s a fire inside that loves getting up against it and facing my demons. It also motivates me to try to get fit and strong off the bike because I know how much that helps my confidence. I’m sure a lot of it relates to my ADHD brain, but the best juice from rides like these is seeing other riders accomplish their personal goals, pumping everyone up for the next rip.