Chipps wants to show you all of his favourite trails. Well, nearly all.
We all know that there are no secrets any more. Every mountain has been discovered, every field, stream and hillside catalogued, and every vaguely wiggly forest track named and KOMed. It seems that you just have to open an internet browser and a rip-roaring good time will be guaranteed. The reality, thankfully, is a little more nuanced.
Even the best map reading and .gpx downloading can only get you so far on unfamiliar trails. The map, or the trail photos taken a year ago, won’t convey the condition of the ground right now, or the state of the nettles, or the depth of the puddles. Even a meteo-map reading whizz can’t always explain why that headwind appears to have been following you around for the entire ride.
This is, of course, where local knowledge comes in very handy. The best guides and the best locals know how to string those segment names together in a fun and flowing journey. More importantly, they also know the bailout routes for when things go wrong, and they know the sneaky resupply stops and the best mountain bike-friendly place to finish up at for your post-ride refreshments.
On one guided ride in Spain, we rolled into a small village at lunchtime to discover a main street of shuttered shops and, to our eyes, zero chance of avoiding the impending bonk we could all feel approaching. Our guide José luckily knew otherwise and took us down a little alley to a car park full of cars and into the back door of the closed restaurant; the packed closed restaurant was serving a sumptuous lunch. It seems that in the tourist-free winter months, it doesn’t bother opening its front doors as all of the locals know to go round the back. A point scored for local knowledge there.
We all have those secrets for our own local scenes: that pub that lets you bring your bikes into the back bar with you, that honesty-box farmer’s shop that stocks fresh flapjacks and ice creams year-round, or that ‘No bikes’ trail that the gamekeeper specifically lets you ride with his blessing as you once had a cheery chat with him about Red Setters.
But what do you do with that knowledge? Hide it away for best? Scrub all traces of the hard-earned knowledge from your social media and Strava feeds?
No, it seems to be that the more hard-earned a trail secret is, the stronger is the need to share it. Visiting riders to the area will post up a ‘Hey are there any tips for a good day out here’ request and, for many riders, the call is too strong to ignore. We simply have to volunteer an afternoon to show those strangers around. After all, we don’t want them going back home saying that where we live is terrible and there are no good rides to be found, do we? And, in return, we know that we’ll be rewarded with similar treatment when we’re in some far-off town on business (with a bike). It seems there’s always a rider free to show you around.
The mutual benefits of our sociable, shared hobby are many. Visiting riders get a cherry-picked tour of the best trails, and we get to see our dull, old familiar trails in the new light of the first-timer. We get to share their enthusiasm at the view, or the terrain, or at the quirky wrought iron gate latches and the moss on the trees on that track we’ve ridden a thousand times.
Does this mean that all your hard-won secrets are now out for all to see? Hardly. Your visiting new friends have ridden one, maybe two of your hand-curated tours, and you were the one who chose what to show them. They had a great time riding and you had a great time showing them.
And those must have been the best trails, because they were so great. Weren’t they?
After one fantastic foreign visit, where I loved every moment and every trail we rode, I thanked my host profusely for showing me the best trails in the area. He replied: “Oh, those aren’t the best trails. They’re just the best trails we show visitors. Move here and I’ll show you the rest…”
Some secrets should remain secret, after all.