Race Report: Northwest Epic Series Sun Top 60

The short:
Creative credit for finding this race and making the logistics come together goes to Chuck and the Parker clan.

Chuck and I went down to Washington mid-week last week, borrowing his in-laws camper, and then camping with them, to race Northwest Epic Series’ Sun Top 60 miler: two 30 mile laps that featured two long grinding fire road climbs and bombing down sweet singletrack each lap, for a total of 11,000’ of climbing! The field was shallow, but I took 6th in the mens open, and 9^th overall, out of 25 starters.

 

One of the only pics from race day

 

The long

I’ve been wanting to do an endurance mountain bike race Outside Alaska for the last few seasons.
Racing in Alaska, everything is familiar, from the competitors to the trails. This would also provide an outlet so all my endurance racing eggs weren’t in one race (the Soggy).
The set of criteria to guide what made sense to race was pretty narrow.
I don’t want to race before mid-June, I don’t see the point in paying to race at altitude, and any race needs to have a minimum of a two week buffer on either side of the Soggy (always the first Saturday in August).
Despite the limits, that still leaves quite a few options fortunately.
Chuck sent me a link to the Sun Top race. With a very low ($60) entry fee, plus the ability to do it all on the cheap and in relative comfort thanks to help from the Parkers, it was a no-brainer.  

We got to the venue Thursday morning. The race was based out of the Buck Creek Campground, which, quoting Trenton, Chuck’s brother-in-law, is a dusty $4!7hole. It was ideal for the staging the race though, and cost $5 a night. Sadly it was completely trashed and abused. Broken glass, garbage, piles of empty beer cans, swaddles of toilet paper, and random fire pits everywhere, and I’m not exaggerating. Chuck and I filled 1/3 of a contractor bag with garbage from our site alone. Super lame.

On the other hand, we were right at the doorstep to some great riding, and set off to pre-ride the entire course.

The course:

The course consisted of an “internal” and external loop. From the start/finish at the campground, the race set off on the shorter internal loop, climbing a 5-mile fire road that gained about 1,300 feet, before teeing into the apx midway point of the Sun Top Trail. The course dumps down the lower half of Sun Top trail back to the campground, losing all that vert in a hurry by blasting down straight line traverses broken up by hard switchbacks, and peppered with numerous series of mini drops.
Riders passed back through the campground, closing the “internal loop”, exited the campground again, but then split right at the base of the fire road, and headed into the woods on the Skookum Flats Trail to begin the “external loop.”
Skookum was by far my favorite section of the course: a 5-mile stretch of old-school single track that passed through ancient river-bottom forests, and oscillated rapidly between fast flowy sections and slow technical rock and root features. A and B line options abounded.
Skookum spit us out at the base of the main climb up to Sun Top summit, accessed via a 6-mile fire road climb that gained nearly 3,100 feet of vertical. The road climbed at a steady grade of between 8-12% from bottom to top, and never flattened or rolled to provide a single section of coasting. It was basically like sitting on a trainer with the resistance cranked all the way up for an hour+. Stop pedaling, stop moving.
From the 5,280’ summit and active fire tower, the course hit the beginning of the Sun Top Trail.
A rather short 500’ rowdy descent ensued. Up here, the trail consisted of loose, fist-sized rocks, more mini drops, and switchbacks, with some no-fall sections.
The Sun Top trail loops around from the summit and actually crosses the road we just climbed
The course description warned that after this road crossing, the Sun Top Trail had a nasty climb in store.
They weren’t kidding. The trail climbs from the road crossing through open pine forest for 600 vertical feet over about a mile. With a 3,000 foot climb hardly in the bag, this section was absolutely miserable on the mind and the legs. Worse yet, it keeps getting steeper as you climb.
The trail finally hits the high point of the day though, and begins to run downward along the ridge line. Two more short punchy climbs stood between us and the beginning of the true descent, but once it begins, it dive bombs in one awesome and fast uninterrupted contour back to the top of the first climb of the day. From here, you are back on familiar ground in the lower half of Sun Top trail, and tip down the twisty switchbacks back to the campground to complete the “external loop.”
The whole course was 30 miles long with 5,500 feet of climbing.
Now just repeat, and you have the 60 mile race…Gulp.

Photo: C.D.

Chuck and I realized we had not given the race enough credit. Fire road climbs and single track descents sounded like hammer fest to the top and sesh the downhills. The second half was fairly accurate, but the climbing was long and laboring. Dieseling was a better descriptor.

We don’t have fire road climbs up here. Even our road climbing tends to be broken up with rolls and flats between pitches allowing for short mid-climb recovery.
I was targeting a time of 7:30.

On Friday we re-rode the external loop. Riding Skookum Flats again, I dialed in all the features. I also changed up my climb strategy middle ring in a low cadence, to keeping it cool in the little ring with a high cadence. It felt way more sustainable.

Friday afternoon, Doug, Shelly, Trenton, Brandy and their little crew all showed up, along with all the weekend campers, and mountain bikers. The campground came alive.

Through the twisted timbers on Skookum

There were some massive old trees

The active fire lookout at the summit of Sun Top

Sven, or Vern... he likes to talk, a lot.

Photo: C.D.

Photo: C.D.

 

The Race

The 60 milers went out an hour before the 30 milers. The field was shallow, only about 25 riders, compared to 90 or so in the 30.

We lined up, and they sent us off.
What ensued left me laughing, and gasping.
People sprinted!
My warm up had consisted of riding about 500 feet from the camper to the start line!
There was basically no choke for 5 miles and 1,300 feet of climbing. I could see no value to hammering, and was having none of it.
What I say next could come off the wrong way, but, I’ve been riding a bit, and have a pretty good sense of both my limits, and sometimes, those around me. What I’ll say, is looking at some of the other riders, I got a sense that some of the people around me didn’t know what they were getting into.
This point was going to get proven to me.
Fifteen minutes into the climb, and slowly getting into what would actually be my ride speed, I began to catch up with a few riders. As I would catch up, htye’d start shooting glances back, and in several cases, as my front wheel would come up alongside, a few of these guys would suddenly speed up.
I watched, almost in disbelief as they were “counter attacking,” and my clock only read 15 minutes in.
Are you serious?
We dropped into the first descent, and as expected, there was no passing, though there were a few riders pulled over with mechanicals.
I actually did catch one of the riders who was “counterattacking” me earlier, near the base of the descent, but, as we hit the flats through the campground, guess what, he took off through the flats and “attacked” again.
I decided about then that I’d probably start making passes near the top of the second climb as these guys wore themselves out
I also got the sense my day was going to be a scavenger hunt, and would basically be on, picking off people riding stupid.
I was only partially right.
I rolled into Skookum Flats, and as the trail began to duck, dodge, and weave, I found myself on the guy’s wheel pretty quick. I passed him, and fairly quickly caught another rider.
In the next 5 miles on Skookum, I’d take a total of 4 placements!
I did not see that coming.

I nailed every feature on Skookum both laps on race day, a definite help in closing positions. Photo: C.D.

We spat out from Skookum, and I was riding alongside Matt from BC. He was a really good technical rider, so I was actually looking forward to having someone to pace with on the climb, but as we hit the base, he dropped back.
I rode up to the summit through the long grind, with another rider just up the road from me. This rider would occasionally look back, but I had no interest in burning it up.
After completing the initial descent from the top of Sun top, we went into the awful singe track climb. Not even a ¼ the way up, I found the rider I’d been tailing the past hour walking, unable to climb the steep pitch.
I muttered something about how much this pitch sucked, and he asked me if I knew how much longer it went on…
I paused for a second, before I prefaced my response with: “I’m seriously not trying to get in your head.”
Continuing, “but it’s not going to be over soon, and it’s going to get worse before it gets better. I’m sorry.”
It seemed like a hard thing to say, but, wtf, it was the truth. I had to learn that on Thursday.
The second punchy ascent along the ridge had a gradual lead in, and though I should have known better, it still caught me off guard in a really tall gear. I had to strain to keep moving, and cursed at the pain of the stupid move. Once the descent began though, it was fantastic. The cool morning air leant a bit of dampness and tack to the trail. It felt like the best descent I’d had yet.
Crossing the internal loop’s road and beginning the switchback descents, I was pleased by the lack of dust (every descent but this one down this section was dusty due to other riders nearby.)
The one caveat, was that the 30 milers had come though, and this descent would also shift in shape each passing. Some corners were notably more blown out, but the worst was a steep double drop though an S-turn that went off camber over super loose dry soil.
I rolled in with too much speed, slamming the double drops, and realized I was going into the steep off-camber duff next.
The bike immediately began to suck downward.
Oh fuck.
An axel-height rock followed immediately by a switch back was all I could see. I could either try and roll the big rock and hope the suspension ate it, or let the bike sink deeper off the duff and into the brush, hoping I didn’t snag, and fail, and assuredly sending my into the switchback at way too sharp on an inside angle.
I aimed for the rock and pulled back. The yeti didn’t like the rock, but it pulled over it.
I could literally see skid marks through the forest litter leading out of the switchback from where at least a few human bodies had slid.
Rushed with relief to have avoided what would have been a nasty wreck, and pissed at the chaos that had clearly caused the change in the trail, I swore out loud.
Oh, there’s an elderly volunteer medic staged at this obviously dangerous spot…Ya, the look on her face said it all. It was a nice to have a little comic relief.

Rolling back through the campground, I swing off at our cooler and snapped in the new bladder. I ran with 2 liters of water per lap, and drank around 1.75L each lap. I might have drank more the second were it not for the water being ice cold from being in the cooler. It really helped.

My second internal loop of the day felt really good. I was all alone, the climb was staying shaded, and I never saw anyone on the way, but my legs were feeling better than expected.
Into the internal loop descent, a 30-mile rider closing out his external loop shot by. I heard another 30 miler coming as I opened the suspension, and assumed that these front runners would likely catch me on the descent. No such issue, the guy I heard coming seemed to fade further and further behind.
Back through the campground for the last time, and on to Skookum to start the second external.
I was still alone, and began to think that was it for the race.
Due to crash on Skookum the night before the race, the organizers had instituted a mandatory dismount section with a volunteer on site to ensure everyone walked.
As I passed, I asked when he’d last seen another 60-miler.
“Right there” he said, point down the trail.
No kidding, a white helmet bobbed just around the corner.
A few minutes later I caught the rider at the base of a 10-foot ledge we all had to hike-a-bike. He waved me past and I shouldered the bike for the quick scramble, but when we remounted, he was able to hang on the next mile or so to the road.
As we popped out of the woods, I saw another racer, stopped, draped over his bike and clutching his quads. 
I swung by the cooler Doug and Trenton had dropped off and grabbed my Coke. The guy I had caught on Skookum was still on my wheel, and asked if maybe I had a cold beer in the cooler too, ha!
Not yet I told him.
As we started to climb, I offered him some of my drink, but he declined, and then dropped back, disappearing.
“Two more placements thanks to Skookum!” I congratulated myself.
The caffeine and sugar did it’s job and the bottom 2/3 of the climb seemed to go by a little easier, but around mile 4, the guy I thought I’d just dropped reappeared. In the next 2 miles, he would go from being out of sight, to within 10 seconds of my wheel as we hit the summit.
I was deflated. So much for not getting passed.
I knew I could put a little time into the guy down the nasty descent, but I still had a pretty narrow lead with the hardest climb ahead.
“Ride smart through the initial descent. You cannot crash. Don’t look back.”
I popped back out to cross the road, and went into the steep single track climb.
I knew if I was still getting tailed, he would be able to see me ahead, and I knew if turned around, it would only defeat me further.
I dug in, hoped I didn’t hear breathing, passed a couple exhausted 30 milers, and hoped for the best.
As I neared the top, I finally shot a glance back.
Just a quiet and empty forest.
The last descent was one of the hardest descents on my life. Getting sloppy or lazy at these speeds would mean a really bad crash. I had to ride smart, but my legs were starting to seize. Climbing was actually easier on them then descending.
Despite all the use, some sections of trail felt like they were riding better, and I ended up passing a couple more 30 milers.
I didn’t really think there was anyone close, but I drilled the stretch through the campground with what little I had left.

 

Feeds: The race offered 3 aid stations. The first was just past the start-finish and had food and water, the second was water only and was about halfway up the big Sun Top Climb, and the third was another full aid station with food etc. at the top of Sun Top.

I never used the aid stations other than to toss out an empty can of Coke. Thanks to Doug and Trenton, we had a cooler in the campground near the start where I had a second bladder to swap in mid-race, and another cooler at the base of the big Sun Top climb where I had a small can of Coke for the last climb of the day. Swapping bladders took 30 seconds, and I drank my Coke on the wheel.
I had all my food onboard in a gas tank bag: Cliff shot bloks and Honey Stinger Waffles. I ate 2.5 packs of bloks (no caffeine), 2 waffles (one chocolate), and the Coke, feeding every 45 minutes starting after 90 minutes.
Not stopping at aid stations gave me a definite edge over all the racers I passed. The rider who nearly caught me at the top of the second lap stopped at the aid station. I have no idea why. He should have pushed through, he might have taken me down.  

Takeaways:

This event really lived up to all that I personally hoped it would. I got to race somewhere else, on new trails, against some new faces, and enjoy some summer weather that has kind of been lacking in AK.
The race organizers were really cool, friendly, and full of stoke for their participants – no egos.
The bang for your buck value was incredible: $60 got you the following:

• A really well marked course .
• Medics stationed all over the course as well as onsite.
• A well-thought out evac plan for numerous locations on course.
• Hard time limits.
• Two staffed and stocked aid stations and one unstaffed water station.
• Live results.
• A post-race BBQ with burgers, dogs, drinks, and snacks.
• Cold beer.

Ya, you read that last one right.

Would I do this particular event again? No. On the upshot, talking with the race directs after, it sounds like next year they will make the 60 just a 50 and get rid of the second internal loop. That will be a good change with basically no impact on the feel. They also plan to market it a little differently and emphasize that this is really challenging.

I would certainly recommend the event to someone, but, since I have to fly a long ways, it was a good experience, but there are definitely other races to check out. I’m really intrigued by NWE’s Capitol forest race, which I take is kind of their premier event anyway. Based on this race, I would def give the race org’s kudos, and recommend any of their bike or running races.

Chilling out Saturday night.

The compound.

Personal takeaways

In the big picture, I can’t say I had any major takeaways from this race, which is OK. Obviously, the trails were new, and the riding style, particularly they extended fire road climbs, were new, and challenging.
This was a climber’s race, and my Yeti is an obvious handicap in a marathon race with endless smooth climbs (it’s kind of a handicap in any race, but it’s also a great all-around bike). A typical 4x4 XC full suspension rig was clearly the choice for the 60 mile event, and I think a strong technical rider with climbing legs on a hardtail with a 120 fork could mop up the 30 mile.
Otherwise, my only real takeaway was that I generally played my cards right. I basically made all my passes on the most technical section of the course on Skookum. That is a real ego booster, as that was some true-to-the-roots of the sport techy riding. I thought I would pick off some riders on the climbs, but not so much. I put a little of that on the bike. The Yeti does really well for its size and build on trail climbs, but is definitely not an attack bike on smooth dirt roads. The descents were too short and rowdy too do much damage there. All I noticed on descents was that I extended my leads.
Really, my next biggest advantage came from endurance experience. I didn’t stop at aid stations, amp my pace in response to those around me, and my feeds and hydration were on point.
The one conversation Chuck and I had was whether I would have benefited from going with the initial sprint.
Having had the chance to look at the re-play on Strava, the answer was no, in this case. My next closest competitor was out-climbing me on every ascent. If I’d gone with the sprint, the guy still would have driven a harder pace then I was on the ensuing three climbs. Basically, assuming that going with the sprint did not have a negative impact on my performance later (who knows), my delta would have been 2 minutes on the next position, instead of 8. In a broader picture, had there been a thicker field, or had the guy in front of me not driven his climbs with as consistent gains, then yes, it could have. Food for thought.

Singletrack Highway: Mountain Biking from Seattle to Anchorage

I’ve driven to Alaska twice, first in 2008 to get up here, then again in 2011 to move a friend up. Both times I took the Cassiar Highway, and both times I had to do the trip in a few days.
The route is amazing, it has always been a dream to do the trip with a little more time, and of course, a mountain bike.
In late March, Adam shot me a message seemingly out of the blue, asking if I wanted to drive a new mini-van from Seattle back up to AK and go mountain biking  in the spring?
The timing could not have been better. A planned April ski-week was looking like it was going to get busted by a major heat wave, and I couldn’t do both trips in such a short span – Adam’s trip turned out to be the silver lining of the bagged skiing.
We had one week to pull the trip off, and we opted to go May 7-15 for scheduling reasons. This could be a bit early for such a trip most years, but low snow and a record hot spring across most the route meant basically all the riding we planned to do would be in.
Along the way we rode Bellingham, Whistler, Pemberton, Williams Lake, Burns Lake, Smithers, and Whitehorse. We discussed putting together a list of positives of each area we visited. So for the short version of the trip, here it goes:

 Bellingham: Awesome rainforest riding, easy to navigate, good graduation between trails. It appears that their harder trails have ride-arounds of their bigger features (which are big), so you could dabble on the black diamonds and find a challenging ride while working up the skill to hit bigger features piece by piece.

Whistler: Common, this is no fair to anyone else on the list. Everywhere should strive to be like Whistler. Anyway, what impressed me most, was the incredibly defined evolution of riding. The green trails would be great if you’ve never ridden a bike off pavement, the blue trails have more furniture and features to learn on, but they are a reasonable progression for someone with more than the basic skills and fitness, with occasional options to hit side features that are a bit more challenging, and the black trails will work over experienced riders and make them ripped and skilled.

Pemberton: My favorite trails along the trip, Pemberton trails are about a half notch harder than Whistler. Don’t go here unless you’re strong, know how to handle a bike, and don’t mind second guessing your skill level. It’s been a long time since I’ve ridden something rated blue that made me work hard, and I really think their blue trails meet the criteria for “trail” description. No XC here, but plenty of hard riding! If I could only ride one trail system for the rest of my life, Pemby would be a top pick.

Williams Lake: Lots of trails and an easy to navigate trail system. Williams Lake has done a lot to develop their systems, and despite not having a ton of different terrain to work with, they have made the most of it.

Burns Lake: Burns gets the best package deal, hands down. They have a free, clean, basic campsite – maintained by the local bike trails assoc – at the dang trail head, they have riding for every skill level – and it’s used by every skill level too with people way outside the typical cyclist stereotype making appearances, they are in the middle of absolutely nowhere, their trails have great flow and are marvelously built with a lot of dirt work and furniture to handle sometimes less than ideal hydrology, and they were hands down the easiest trail system to navigate. They have new trails in the works, and I look forward to visiting again!

Smithers: I got mixed reviews on Smithers before I went, and was told there was no riding there for an XC/trail rat.

Dead. Wrong.
Smithers has world class, rugged backcountry singletrack, and I desperately want to go back. Our only problem, we were there too early in the season and our hoped for routes were still snowed in up high. At least we got a taste.

Whitehorse: Whitehorse has tons of riding and great weather, plus, their trail networks are a short pedal from the loads of cheap and free camping in the area.

 

The long.
OK, so that was the short.
The longer version: we landed in Seattle on a sunny Saturday and the car salesman picked Adam and I up at the airport in the pimp’n new Sienna mini-van and drove us north to the dealership through heinous Seattle traffic. We had planned to ride in Seattle, but quickly decided we had already seen enough taillights, and built our bikes up in a back corner of the lot and headed north. A few hours and more traffic later, we were getting an earful of advice from some friendly riders at the trailhead of the Galbraith system on what to ride. They were supremely stoked on their trails, and pleased we’d ditched Seattle. So were we! The trails were really narrow, and surrounded by tall, thick-trunked conifers. We easily stitched together 2 hours or so of blue trails, briefly dabbling on some black trails, without too much map consulting. I won’t say these trails were my favorite of the trip, sometimes they were so ridiculously tight and narrow and I felt like we were poaching hiking tracks, but I’d definitely like to re-visit. Ideally, we might have synced up with a local, who could have taken us on the advanced trails at speed without us having to worry if that was a bridge up ahead, or a ramp that ended with a 5-foot launch.
We split Bellingham and made it over the border, putting us in striking distance of Whistler the next day.

The handoff

Galbraith trails

Whistler

Right, so this is one of the great Meccas in the world of mountain biking, easily top 5, maybe top 3. We easily could have spent most of the trip in the surrounding area, but the nice thing is, it’s not too long a drive north of Seattle, it wouldn’t be hard to re-visit. We had picked out the trail, Comfortably Numb, as the main target, and were interested in Kill Me Thrill Me too. We scoffed a bit at the advised 3.25 hour ride time on Comfy– clearly the uphill bike-pushing enduro bros had put a drag on the average ride time on this trail.
WRONG!
Comfy Numb was 3.5 hours of some of the hardest riding I’ve done since I left Saratoga Springs, and the similarly aggressive Stables trail system. Actually, I felt like I was in Stables most the time, except for that whole, huge snow-capped mountains thing. The riding was straight up hard, across the board, and never relented. Every foot of progress was made difficult by features, and the trail climbed and descended relentlessly. On the main descent at the end of the trail, I had to stop two or three times – yes, on the downhill – to take a moment and recover!
I think, however, in total, there were only 3-4 features on Comfy that neither Adam or I felt we could not ride.
Once we finished off Comfy, we didn’t have a clear plan. Kill Me seemed to involve a road ride to complete, and the weather had called for thunderstorms in the afternoon. It was still nice out, but I was certainly feeling worked, and the thought of spending another 3 hours on Kill Me, especially if it began to rain, was not appealing. Instead we rallied a fairly fast loop on the Lost Lake blue trails. It was nice to finally open the bikes up a little bit and pedal, but after Comfy, these trails were the numb ones, boring in perspective. Then we hammered the gravel grind Green Lake Loop trail back to the car, sliding into the trail head just as the rain and thunder began! In retrospect, we should have started in the Village and warmed up on the Lost Lake trails, then ridden Comfy. Hitting Comfy with cold legs was extra tough.

Dark woods on Comfortably Numb

Dork. Look, I'm even wearing baggies!

Pemberton

Hands down, I had more fun on the Pemby trails than all the others. We rode part of the NIMBY 50 loop, including the Nimby trail, and then Middle Earth, which switchbacked relentlessly for something like 3,500 vertical feet or some such business through a huge variety of forests on a challenging trail. A Kiwi ex-pat named Grant blew by us on the climb and we latched on to follow his wheel as he lead us up Nimby and told of us the race they’d soon have on the trails he was preparing for. I was so jealous. We split at the top of Nimby, climbing further up the Middle Earth Trail, before charging back down Rudys. Rudys was probably my favorite trail of the entire trip, incredible flow with non-stop trail features that made me wonder when the last time was that I felt so pushed by a trail only rated as blue? Next we dropped down a black called Rusty Trombone. There was debate about maybe going down Overnight Sensation next door since that’s the race route, but anyway, Trombone was good enough. There were probably a half dozen features we walked. Part of the challenge however, wasn’t just the features, but the very dry and loose trail surface. We were surfing a lot on the steep trail and it made it tricky to confidently roll into the steeper features. Next we headed over to the Mosquito Lake trails, which had a lot of promise, but turned out to be a bit of a mess to navigate. Pemby could use some improvement on that front, and I hit a wall on patience with the constant map checking (which btw, the paper map is out of date) and app checking, all the while, feeding the namesake insect of the local lake. The long grind of a climb and descent was so satiating, and my hunger was satisfied. My only other comment for Pemby: you guys have some hardcore trails, but what’s up with the names? Don’t answer that, I get it, a bunch of dudes, in the woods, for a long time. Seriously though, sorry to unleash my middle-aged dad, but the trails are really BA on their own, world class, they don’t need lame names that a group of 13 year olds and The Donald would think were cool, or appropriate.

Back down in Pemberton, we found showers in the shiny new rec centre and watched local kids tear it up in the bike park. In retrospect, I think we might have spent another day in Pemby and ridden Mosquito Lake with fresh legs the next day.

We were on the road that afternoon instead on the steep and winding highway to Lillooet, and onward to Mile 100 House area.
We found a place to camp on the shore of Lac La Hache, and temps dove to 26 degrees under the clear cold sky. The next morning we went to check out some low-key single track around Mile 108.

Such good trail!

OK views too.



The kids bike park in town.

 

Mile 108 is a social trail network and we relied on the app, but even then, most the trails weren’t shown. The system was small, and really old school. I really wasn’t into the trails at all. I’m sure they’re awesome to the local scene, but not worth stopping the car for on a long trip. Next we headed to Williams Lake, stopping in at the Barking Spider, the local shop, to get a little fresh sealant for Adam’s weeping rear tire, and a little trail beta. The staff was extremely nice and offered a route suggestion on their Southside trail system, which we headed on over to for the second ride of the day.

Unfortunately, less than halfway into the suggested loop, I broke my drive-side pedal off its spindle. I turned and high tailed it back to the van to get to the shop before they closed, but Adam continued to ride, investigating the rest of the South system. Even in my short 1.5 hour ride, half with a busted pedal, I still enjoyed the trails and liked how easy they were to rip.
The trails we saw were generally very smooth, there’s not a lot of a roots or rocks, though they tried to find some. Compared to the Mile 108 trails, they are vastly better, with good flow, and were easy enough to navigate. The advice from the shop owners on access was integral though, as you have to ride through a narrow, legal corridor, surrounded by no trespass signs, that would turn most people around. We planned to investigate the West Side trail system the next morning, but intermittent sprinkles that evening turned to a steady rain overnight, and puddles were forming everywhere.
We grabbed breakfast at the Gecko Tree – the best food of the trip – along with food for the road, and headed north to Burns Lake, where the weather forecasters promised the rain had passed.

 

We rolled into Burns Lake mid-afternoon Wednesday, and soon enough were pedaling up the road from town to the trail head. We set off on the BBC30, a 30KM marked loop that is the system’s showcase ride. It climbed the Razorback Trail, then descended Charlotte’s Web, before tying together a bunch of blue flow trails. Burns has got it all right. I mean sure, Whistler has it all dialed, but Burns, it’s in the middle of nowhere, literally, but somehow has put together some of the best trails, best nav, and best amenities.
Let’s put this in perspective: In 2011 I drove up with Rachel, we did the trip in three 16-hour days. Burns Lake was our first stop, and we opted to stay in hotels on the trip to get a good night’s rest and early starts in the mornings. Our hotel room in Burns Lake that night had strange, dried-blood-colored spots on the sheets (we slept on top of the linens in our own sleeping bags, thanks much), bugs crawling out the drains, and our neighbors were some loggers so drunk they could hardly stand – accompanied by a few lady friends of theirs of course. If you had told me then, that one day I would sing praises for this small community, and the mountain biking there, I would have laughed my head off.
Our accommodations this time was on the side of Boer Mountain at the trail head in a clean campground maintained by the mountain bike assoc. Much better.

 

The next morning we awoke to strong winds, clear skies, and warming temps. I had thoughts about riding the same loop, or a variation, on Boer Mountain, but we had begun to consider riding in Smithers. Beta about Smithers was that XC/Trail nerds would be disappointed, too “all-mountain,” but review of some of the trail descriptions told us otherwise. The likely catch was that most the trails we were interested in Smithers lead into the alpine, and it seemed likely they wouldn’t be in yet.
Adam had the logical argument that on a trip like this, it would be better to try. He could not have been more right. We rode some incredible backcountry trails as high as we could, and it was pretty spectacular, and just made me want to go back for more. The snow-capped mountains, narrow and rough single track, thick forests, and general quiet was a welcome relief after several days in the low lands.
Smithers is a drop dead gorgeous place, with tranquil green fields that seem to run right to the base of the wilderness peaks beyond. I’d probably pull up stakes to call a place like this home.
That night, we headed north, and ended up driving about half the Cassiar Highway, before finally pulling off at the edge of a random logging site to call it a night.

Outside Smithers

Rugged backcountry trails. Too bad we were too early for the alpine riding.

 

We were off the next morning for our only non-riding day, driving 7 or 8 hours the remaining distance to Whitehorse. The Cassiar is a beautiful road, but even in the 8 years since I first drove it, it’s changed. It’s now essentially entirely paved, and in general, the road condition was really good. There is also now a large utility corridor along much of its southern section. There was also much more truck traffic, though that could have been related to the active fires along the Alcan diverting traffic. It feels a lot less like a forgotten pocket of the planet than it did though. Nonetheless, along the way we saw something like 7 or 8 black bears, one grizzly, a caribou, and a couple moose.

Dease Lake area.

 

Whitehorse was hot, and dry. It’s become a fairly popular long weekend trip from Southcentral AK. We picked a long route on the east side trail system, and rode about 40 miles in 5 hours with a whole lot of stop-and-go map checking.
I’d heard a lot of good things about WH. Maybe I just had unreasonable expectations, but I thought it was fairly vanilla. In my mind, vanilla is not bad, but, its average. The trail network is extensive, no doubt; the summer weather is a good bit better than SCAK’s, and the trail app developed is pretty solid.
That’s about where my praise ends. Whitehorse, like Anchorage, is the hub, albeit a smaller one, and is pretty seedy. If someone told you they were coming to Alaska to mountain bike, hopefully they wouldn’t spend more than a day or two in Anchorage. It seems like the area beyond WH is begging for a backcountry epic, not just suburban spaghetti bowls. This is the wild north after all, right?
As for the trails themselves, ya, meh: trail markings could be better, and especially seem lacking due to the incredible number of social trails that randomly jut off. Despite having a good app, it’s hard to ride here without having to stop constantly to re-check your route. Worse, some social trails are obviously social trails and you can burn by, while others are heavily used and look like main trails. It’s clear to me anyway, the trails assoc should probably make their priority cleaning the rats from their barn. Sometimes, in smaller trail networks, social trails can help create some variations. For a place that boasts 100 KMs of trail, this isn’t really an issue, and in the process, the trails lack a clean feel. We had to turn around several times when we either chased a prominent-looking social trail thinking it was a main trail, or missed a junction of an actual main trail because it wasn’t marked and looked more like a social trail. It got really frustrating. Additionally, there was evidence of really bad behaviors everywhere, people seem to have no problem making their own cut offs of trail bends or cutting alongside intersections through the open woods.
My other issue with the trails: they’re doomed for erosion problems. The trails generally lacked switchbacks, and attack gradients steeply, frequently. Without much rock in the soil, this is going to go the same way it’s gone for every other steep trail ever built in the history of humankind: a lousy rut. Basically, it’s hard to see this and not think about how much work they will be doing in years to come to re-route and re-build since they didn’t do it right in the first place.
Lastly, Whitehorse’s trail rating system is pretty whack. The blacks seemed consistent enough: steep and rooty. The blues, basically meant everything else, from hybrid double/single track to “why isn’t this considered black?” I got the impression that three different people or entities had rated different parts of the trail system throughout their construction. When you look at a map, you have no way of knowing what you’re going to get out of a blue trail as a result. While I never felt outmatched…their blacks might be  Pemberton green…I was really unimpressed when I found some blue “singletrack” really wasn’t blue, or singletrack.

It’s a lot of harsh criticism I suppose, but I guess I really see the area as otherwise having so much potential and just not realizing it. I would still go back, but it’s a spring or fall destination for SCAK – going mid-summer seems stupid, our trails are much better, we just don’t have the weather.

Anyway we finished off our ride with the thermometer tapping in the high-70s, and thought we’d rinse off in the Yukon. Well, it may have been hot, but that water sure wasn’t!

The iconic Yukon Canyon trail, def a must ride, I enjoyed this a lot.

A bit later we were on the road, and made it over the AK border by 10PM. The next morning we were on the road a little after 5AM and back in ANC by noon. Adam and I dumped out my gear from the van, and he headed the final 2 hours to SOL. It was drop dead gorgeous in Los Anchorage, so I jumped on the hard tail and hammered the hero dirt conditions on Hillside, and despite feeling a little emptied from the long trip, quickly felt restored and glad to be home.

Haines Jct.

Well....it WAS clean.

7 hours to home.

What an incredible trip!