Whistler Bike Trails – Part 2: The Descent

The rain came in before dawn, soft and steady, turning the trail to slick black mud. Harper stood at the top of the black diamond with her helmet fastened and her gloves tight, staring down at the first drop, and felt her stomach roll.

"You can still go back," said Eli, from his bike beside her.

"I know."

"Nobody would think less of you."

"I'd think less of me," said Harper. "I'd spend the rest of my life pretending I didn't want this."

He smiled, a quick flash of white in the grey morning. "Then go first," he said. "I'll be right behind you. And if you fall, I'll be the one telling you it's fine."

She went. The trail dropped away beneath her, steep and fast, roots and rocks glistening in the rain. Her tyres skidded, then bit, and she shifted her weight back and let the bike carry her, eyes on the path ahead the way Eli had taught her. Her heart was thundering. The trees flew past in blurred green and grey.

Halfway down, a root caught her front wheel. She went over the handlebars, rolled, and came up sitting in the mud with her helmet askew and her knee throbbing.

Eli was beside her in seconds, crouching in the wet, his hands on her shoulders.

"Are you hurt?"

"Only my pride," said Harper, and burst out laughing, mud on her cheek and rain in her eyes. "It's a very good pride. Very muddy."

"You're insane," said Eli, but he was grinning, his hand rubbing gently at her knee.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"Yes."

"Do you still want me to keep riding? After I've fallen in the mud in front of you?"

Eli's grin softened into something warm and serious.

"Yes," he said. "Because you got up. Every time. That's the only thing that matters on a mountain."

They walked the bikes the rest of the way down, slipping and swearing and laughing, and at the bottom, in a small clearing by the creek, Eli stopped and turned to face her, rain dripping off the brim of his cap.

"Can I ask you something else?" he said.

"Yes."

"Would you let me kiss you, here, at the bottom of the black diamond, covered in mud and mountain rain? Because I think you're the bravest person I've ever guided, and I'd like to say so properly."

Harper laughed, shaky and bright. "Yes," she said. "But if I say stop, you have to ride the whole trail again with me, and I'm holding onto your jersey the whole way."

"Deal," said Eli, and stepped closer, his hands coming up to cup her face. His kiss was warm and firm, tasting of rain and salt and the wind, unhurried and certain. She held on to his jersey, her muddy gloves leaving marks, and he didn't seem to mind at all.

When they parted, both of them were laughing softly, breathless and soaked.

"Green?" asked Eli.

"Green," said Harper. "Very green. Now take me to the gondola, Eli, before I catch a cold and you have to carry my bike up the mountain."

"I'd carry it for you," said Eli. "I'd carry anything for you."

"You're very sweet for a mountain guide."

"I'm very sweet for a man who cried at the bottom of this trail," said Eli, grinning, and took her hand, muddy and warm, as they walked out of the clearing together into the rain-washed morning.