A ride trip releases the parenting pressure and brings new perspective to daily life for Anders Engberg.
Words & Illustrations: Anders Engberg
In a mass of debris, a post-apocalyptic landscape appears.
I move between islands of discarded clothes only pausing to investigate the origin of the pain in my bare feet. My examination is suddenly interrupted by two different noises. The first one comes from my eldest daughter running through our house wearing only the slaughtered remains of dinner, trying her best to imitate a dying police siren. The second one is from my phone reminding me to put in extra hours at work to cover a disastrous staff situation.
I decide to adopt my daughter’s go-to strategy and just throw myself to the floor and scream ‘NO NO NO I DON’T WANT TO!’
I get as far as my knees when the adult world reminds me that the pasta is overcooking on the stove. As much as I want to throw a tantrum, it will most likely be overshadowed by a kitchen fire.
Apparently this world is my home, on a very ordinary weekday in a daily grind that’s moving completely backwards. I step on another piece of Lego on my way to the overcooked pasta when my girlfriend catches the look in my eyes. She pauses her rocking of our youngest to counter the oncoming psychological breakdown.
I’m losing it.
Wise from previous encounters with my meltdowns, my girlfriend is quick to make the first move. She swiftly counters with the suggestion that I might go on a short bike trip with some friends. She knows that this will distract the dark side long enough for the rational part of my brain to mobilise.
Looking like a deer caught in the headlights, I freeze, unable to move as neurons and synapses battle it out. Finally my brain exits disaster mode and my mouth makes a high pitched sound going ‘Aah…’ You know what, that might actually be a great idea…
To infinity and beyond!
My little plastic Buzz Lightyear toy swings happily back and forth from the rear view mirror as I steer west towards Åre Bike Park a couple of days later.
It’s quite a way to go, but I don’t mind the drive – the landscape I need to traverse to get there is beautiful. When the possibilities for trips are limited, Åre seemed like the best location as it has every type of riding available, ranging from high alpine rocks, gnarly steep forest singletrack to flowy machine-built trails with jumps and berms.
I’m dying for an adventure, eager to follow Buzz’s motto and blast off to infinity and beyond. My friends Nils and Maria are joining me for the weekend and just before they arrive to meet me, I’ve managed to coerce my stiff body out of the car and into our accommodation.
Hypothermia and fancy footwork
The next morning greets me with a brisk westerly coming in from adjacent Norway, bearing heavy weather. My eyes still sting from yesterday’s tears when driving away from my parents’ house watching my oldest kid waving in the rear view mirror. Being only three years old, more than half her life has been lived during a pandemic making this handover a day of firsts for all of us.
The mountain looming beside me is still asleep, barely opening an eye at the tiny figure making his way through the village. Not surprisingly, I’ve forgotten several essentials when packing and need to sort it out. It seems like every minute up until leaving had me under water with my airways just barely making it over the surface. Peak stress just before leaving is a classic for me. When the necessity of a trip like this has built up over time, its meaning slowly becomes something unrealistically large and makes me die a thousand deaths until I know it’s actually happening.
After eating and finally getting all the gear sorted we are on our way up the first chair when the dark heavens open up. Rain starts to drizzle down, quickly soaking us as the ascending lift leaves the village below looking like a collection of toys.
The first few laps in a bike park on a big mountain are always kind of awkward. The pace is fast as the ground has been beaten hard by thousands of riders. I feel pretty nervous and skittish on my bike, almost longing for the short, insignificant loamers that make up my local trails. There’s too much wind for the gondolas today so we are at the mercy of the chairs (and weather). After a quick ride down a transfer section, we get on the second chair and the rain gradually shifts into snow, joined by a ruthless gale. Already soaked from the first ride, the snow does not improve our core temperatures and by the time we are up top, moods swing from low to disastrous. We drop into Cobra, a fairly new addition to the park. Machine-built rollers and jumps are usually lots of fun with gentle plateaus to raise confidence. In our state, it’s all about survival.
Rain, lots and lots of rain.
This continues as we head over to the tight switchbacks of Månskogen and Getrappet. Frozen stiff, I get pinged off everything I mean to avoid, making this incredible trail with rollers and fun side hits seem way harder than it is. I push myself to pedal harder to force my body to shunt some warm blood to my extremities, knowing that this is the only way. It works – gradually – so by the time we have ridden through the high alpine terrain and down into the old growth forest I’m starting to feel my fingers again.
Wardrobe malfunctions
Once down, a quick emergency meeting has Nils and Maria going for new, thicker gloves in the village and me to the apartment to switch to rain gear. At this point one of my least favourite talents makes its debut. I have an uncanny gift for constantly misplacing things in the strangest ways. When switching pants, my hypothermic brain mistakes the ventilation zip on the side of my pants for a pocket. I quickly realise and manage to swap my phone over to the actual pocket. I pedal off to meet up with the rest of the gang only to be barred when trying to get on the lift. Cursing under my breath, I open my pocket only to find my ski pass is missing. This is when I realise that I not only tried to jam my phone down the ventilation zip of my pants, I successfully left my ski pass (and the receipt for it) in there too.
Even though I never found the lift pass in my pants, onlookers were treated to an impromptu Thriller dance-off.
In a dance that probably has onlookers wondering if I have vermin up my legs, I quickly frisk myself and find no ski pass. However, by a stroke of insane luck, the receipt has travelled down my leg and is hanging by a molecule from my shoe. Thanking various deities – lady luck, etc., I then bring the receipt to the desk, explain, get properly laughed at and I’m given a new pass. With new gloves, pants and a ski pass at hand we go up again. Our spirits lift and as usual, the quality of the riding is not short to follow.
Nils and Maria decide to redo the former lap to claim victory over the weather gods. I have been eyeing up the old World Cup downhill track that goes right under the chairlift and decide to take it on. It is one of my favourites in the bike park. Rough rock sections and rooty off-camber turns are a real challenge and quite a contrast to the mellow stuff we have at home. However, with rain and close-to-snow temperatures I decide to only give this one go today. My decision is also made easy by the fact that in just one lap on this track, half of my rear brake pad suddenly disappears… We end up spending our day returning to the flowy lines of Månskogen and Getrappet. Even though the weather hasn’t improved, big grins are on all of our faces as the three of us ride in a train through the afternoon.
Wet and tired to the bone, we wash our bikes and head for warm showers and unhealthy food. As evening comes, sleep sneaks up on us in that excellent way that only a day on the mountain can deliver.
On top of the world
All of our bodies make sure to remind us of our actual age and lack of physique as we get in line for the lift the next morning. The soreness is soon replaced by giddy anticipation as were are told that the big gondola is open, which means that all the riding in the alpine zone is up for grabs today. After waiting in line in what seems like forever, we finally get on the gondola. As we step off the platform up top, the world opens up before us.
I have taken these steps many times over the course of 15 years, gripping my bars, waiting for the wind that usually howls at my appearance at the top of this mountain. But not today. Some scattered clouds are resting on the backsides of surrounding mountains and hills. There isn’t even a hint of wind in our faces, just a sun that is carefully melting small sheets of ice still lingering in the shade of the rocks that live here. Standing a sturdy 1,000 vertical metres over the village below, Åreskutan mountain really is reaching for the skies for us today.
Nils and Maria blasting down the incredible alpine terrain.
Wasting no time, we get on our bikes and start descending Easy Rider, a flow trail full of spirit that hops back and forth throughout the entire alpine zone. The trail is ridiculously fun, with an excellent mix of easy beginner lines, doubles and side hits available for everyone who wants to find them.
I’m ecstatic as this is probably the most fun I’ve had on my bike all season. I can tell that Nils and Maria are somewhere in that space too as we barely have time to stop and catch our breath. I find myself in one of those rare moments where everything makes sense. My bike is at its best, doing exactly what I tell it to, picking up speed from the backsides of doubles and floating over rock gardens with ease. In one of the many corners of this trail I catch up with some insight. The feeling of relief and joy that this brings me is not just because riding bikes is insanely fun, it’s because, beyond the blur of everyday life, I am reminded that this is also me.
Hoot if you want to go faster
Still high on the buzz from Easy Rider, we drop in to Svartberget, a black trail that goes sharply over slabs of rock and steep chutes. Coming up to an awkward roll-in type of drop we don’t stop for considerations like a few wiser riders ahead of us, as this day waits for no one. We go for it and our hoots and hollers echo behind us all the way down to the valley floor.
Down by the gondola we meet up with old friends for a quick rest and make sure to check out all the cool bikes that are present in the queue. Nils and our buddy David decide to tackle a big run on the far side of the mountain with some serious pedalling involved. Maria and I opt for a lift-assisted afternoon instead.
As Nils and David set off, their stoke is clearly high as Nils pops a perfect turndown over a crest that soon has them disappearing into the backdrop of the snow-capped Scandinavian mountains.
Maria cutting across some grassy turns before dropping in to the gnarly stuff.
Longing for something steep and gnarly, Maria and I head for the rocky switchbacks of Västra Stjärnvägen and Tjärnis. Västra Stjärnvagen is the perfect place to raise confidence as the trail just seems to want you to go faster. The singletrack that snakes through the alpine birch woods constantly offers pops and jibs that are incredibly fun, but also increase our speed. This is Maria’s first time down these trails, but you would never have guessed it if you saw us. Maria has that finesse that few riders possess. On sections where most of us try to hammer through, Maria finds that impossible flow and makes it looks easy.
We relish these last moments on our bikes. As we descend towards the valley, the decision about whether we should go for one more run is made for us. The lifts have closed and our bodies have checked out too. Seated around a table of warm food I can spot that little glimmer in my friends’ eyes that anyone with a passion will recognise. All the moments from the day get passed around with banter and laughs, eventually settling into lasting memories. These are certainly good times.
Dappled light and dry trails, the stuff of dreams.
It’s incredible what time on the bike will do. A few hours later I’m homeward bound, driving through the late evening with a lingering northern sun on my side and a mind at ease. Actually, I can’t wait to get back home.
Long gone are the strained thoughts about an everyday grind that seems to never end. I feel content in leaving a bad version of myself somewhere along those inland roads and instead return with some appreciation.
To infinity and beyond is a long way to go, let alone dream about. But the fact is that a lot of us get to visit that place every day in the privilege that is a safe and, yes, even boring everyday life. Being in the wrong place mentally will have you miss it, for it can be as subtle as a quick appearance in the wave of small hands sending us off.
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