Whistler Bike Trails – Part 1: The Black Diamond

The trail was called Crank It Up, and from the top of the gondola it looked like a staircase built by someone who hated bicycles. Harper stood beside her bike at the summit of Whistler Mountain, helmet strap pinched under her chin, and tried not to be sick.

"You're going to be fine," said a voice beside her.

She turned. A tall, wiry man in a faded blue jersey was adjusting his gloves. He had a face that had spent a lot of time squinting into sun and wind, and a grin that suggested he was enjoying her misery.

"I'm Eli," he said. "I'm your guide. You're the one who said you'd ridden trails before."

"I rode a trail in Surrey once," said Harper. "It had a duck on it."

"Did the duck survive?"

"The duck was fine. I was not."

Eli laughed, loud and delighted. "Then this is going to be a very interesting week."

The first descent was a disaster. Harper braked too hard, skidded on a loose rock, and nearly went over the handlebars into a patch of ferns. Eli was beside her in seconds, one hand on her shoulder, steadying her, his voice calm and easy.

"Look ahead, not at the root," he said. "The bike goes where your eyes go."

"My eyes are very frightened."

"Then let them be frightened, and keep looking at the trail."

She did. The trail dropped away in tight switchbacks through old-growth fir, sunlight flickering across the path like coins. Her wheels bounced and her heart pounded, and then, halfway down, she realised she was laughing, out loud, at the speed and the sky.

At the bottom, Eli pulled up beside her, his face flushed and his eyes bright.

"You did it," he said.

"I didn't die."

"That's the first step. Dying is optional."

They rode the next trails together over the following days. Eli taught her to read the terrain, to shift her weight over the back wheel on steep descents, to trust the bike when it bucked under her. He talked constantly about the mountains: the grizzly bear tracks by the creek, the marmots that whistled from the rocks, the way the snowline crept up the peaks in the early mornings.

On the third afternoon, they stopped at a viewpoint over a lake, bikes propped against a fallen log, eating sandwiches in the sun.

"Can I ask you something?" said Harper.

"Yes."

"Why do you do this, really? Guide people who are scared of their own wheels?"

Eli chewed slowly, looking out at the water.

"Because I was scared of everything, once," he said. "Scared of the mountains, scared of being alone, scared of people who thought I couldn't do anything but ride. Then someone took me up the black diamond when I was seventeen, and I cried at the bottom, and she said, good, now you know you're alive."

Harper's throat tightened. "Who was she?"

"My mum," said Eli, and grinned. "She still rides faster than me. She thinks I'm a disgrace."

Harper laughed, and then turned to look at him.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"Yes."

"Would you ride the black diamond with me tomorrow? Not as my guide. As the person who cried at the bottom and told her mum she was alive?"

Eli's grin was slow and warm. "Yes," he said. "But only if you let me go first, so I can catch you when you fall."

"Deal," said Harper. "Green?"

"Green," said Eli, and stood, brushing crumbs off his jersey. "Very green. Now get on your bike, Harper, and try not to hit the duck."