Islands In The Mud

You know how there are islands in the Galapagos where there’s a finch that’s perfectly adapted to eat just that one seed that grows on that one island? And then on the next island there’s another finch that’s perfectly adapted to eat just that one seed that grows on the island where it lives, and so on? I think that mountain biking, or mountain bikers, can be a little bit like that. We evolve to ride what we have around us, with the friends there are around us, ending up in our own little mountain biking islands.

Put a bunch of mountain bikers in a room and try and get them to agree on what facilities they’d like to make ‘mountain biking better’ and – particularly if you’ve got people from across the country – you’ll get some hugely varying answers.

One mountain biking finch will say they want access to all the bridleways and footpaths, because that would let them ride so much further. But the finch from the next county will say that what they really want is the right to dig some jumps, or to add a chairlift to their bike park. Another will want places left to be wild, while another wishes for the signage to be clearer.

Mountain biking is many things to many people, and I think it’s also easy to think that mountain biking is what you do. Anyone else you see doing something that they call mountain biking is either doing it wrong, or some sort of niche freak. You and all your mates, you ride trails, you do winch and plummet. Those people on their single speed hardtails are just attentionseeking nerds. There’s only like, three or four them. Like the Dungeons and Dragons club at school.

Media representation of mountain biking can be much the same. A lot of the time what you see is people shredding. Going fast downhill, throwing whips, doing massive drops. These are the things that tend to look good on camera and therefore take up space in our world of images.

The different groups tend to coalesce. People with bags on their bikes (and beards on their chins?) cluster together around campfires, and long, soul-searching rides of deep personal meaning. At least that’s how it often looks in the movies.

The jibbers and shredders gather in 30-second clips on TikTok and Instagram to soundtracks of drum and bass.

The trail riders, just ride along. They gather together with their mates on the weekend. They might feel a bit left out of the media limelight, but they’re safe in the knowledge that it’s what all their mates do. They’re normal. Flight is a fantasy, rubber side down is the real world.

Just as geology and weather encourage different tyre choices, ‘mountain biking’ is influenced by terrain, and access. I started mountain biking in the Calder Valley, with its miles and miles of bridleway over moors and down steep valley sides. It’s very much a place of winch-and-plummet, or long moorland rides, and in more recent times, it’s a place of gravel options. Until very recently there wasn’t a jump or berm to be found. Sticking a bike on my back and carrying it up a hillside is unnecessary – yet fairly commonplace just a couple of hours up the road in the Lake District. Head east to the flatlands of Lincolnshire, or Norfolk, and you’ll find riders pedalling along field margins on endless rolling miles – or clustered at jump spots hidden in the trees. Wherever we are, we ride what we can, adapting like those Galapagos finches.

But unlike the finches, we can travel and adapt without need of generations of breeding. Even heading a few counties over can give you a very different taste of mountain bike culture. It’s very interesting to meet different sorts of riders and see what fuels their stoke. Social media might give you a taste of the other worlds that are out there, but equally, it might funnel you into believing that everyone else also believes that 26 ain’t dead and electronic gears are part of the Lizard Overlords’ plan to stymie our independence. Get out there and see for yourselves how other riders live – maybe it’ll make you appreciate what you have, or give you a taste for something new.

But also, next time you find yourself complaining about a funding allocation, or given the chance to give an opinion of what would ‘make mountain biking better’, don’t just think of what you do. Remember that other people might have other needs, and that some of those trails that are being built or tended are not being done with you in mind. You might have other options. The kid or the adaptive trike rider that a project may be aimed at does not. Advocate for yourself and others. The more people we have on bikes, the more chance everyone has of experiencing fun (or exercise, or freedom, or thrill). Whatever your reasons, and however you do it, it’s a broad church. There’s room for all.

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