DUST BROTHERS
A crew of Santa Cruz riders head to Chile in search of winter sun and !ind all-time freeride sessions on ‘moon candy’ dirt
A crew of Santa Cruz riders head to Chile in search of winter sun and find all-time freeride sessions on ‘moon candy’ dirt, epic lakeside parties and a bike park that would keep even the best riders entertained for a week
The month is early February, and myself and five other northern hemisphere folk are gladly leaving the dark, short and cold days behind us for a bit of precious southern sun in South America. We’re headed to Chile, with a plan to journey through a tiny part of this lengthy, slim country before continuing on to race the Andes Pacifico enduro. All the best roadtrips have a crew, and in this case they’re a bunch of Santa Cruz riders and all-round good guys.
Introducing Iago Garay, the instigator of the trip, our ‘dad’ for the week and king of the tweek. There are few riders who need something so tiny to boost off and throw it down for the camera with such ease. Next up,
Josh ‘Loosedog’ Lewis. No one goes as hard as Josh. His humour, commitment to get a trick landed or a line linked, buzz to ride and drive to enjoy every moment of every day is truly infectious. Then there’s Mitch Ropelato: calm, collected and a master on two wheels. There are no second chances with Mitch – it’s as good as it gets, first time, every time.
A quick register check… where’s Romain Paulhan, aka the Silent Assassin, aka the Steel Baguette? A quick glance up the hill and there’s a faint glimmer of the Frenchman scoping out a new line or trail. He’s a man of few words, a king of speed and smoothness, and will always be the last man standing on the dancefloor. The last piece of the puzzle is Adrian Marcoux, who’s come along to document the journey with his camera (I’m on video duties). Marcoux, always infusing any situation with good vibes, capturing the magic and keeping the
cool among the group. We have our crew, now we just need to fly south from Santiago, Chile’s capital city, to our first stop.
A freeride first
‘La wea wena, weon’ – this popular Chilean slang seems to have a variety of uses. We take it to mean ‘the good shit’ and we don’t stand to be corrected as we gaze down the face of Mocho-Choshuenco, a volcano that flanks the Huilo Huilo biological reserve. We turn to our guide for the evening, who works for the reserve. “So, we’ll just ride down there and meet you at the bottom?” We laugh nervously, reckoning that the possibility of being allowed to ride down a couple of kilometres of volcanic scree within Huilo Huilo is likely way off the mark. Our guide shrugs and says, “Yeah, of course, go where you like.”
Freeride is a funny term. It’s a large, well-respected part of mountain bike culture, but I don’t think many people know how to define it. Is it jumping? Is it riding big lines? Red Bull Rampage? Can you freeride if you’re not a pro? Freeride is definitely a term used more often in certain countries for general riding, but I’d always put that down to a difference in languages and dialects. Here at the top of a volcano, we’re about to drop in, with no trail leading us out, no particular destination in sight, no corners to aim for and no previously-ridden lines scratched in for guidance. We’re just told to ‘freeride’ – something that, in the UK, we don’t get a lot of.
Adrian and I make the call to veer off and line up a shot to capture the first descent. A few moments later, after a bit of a scramble, we’re in place and the boys are ready to drop in. Laughs and heckles start to echo around under lofty, bright blue skies. I turn to Adrian and start laughing too – it’s infectious. Four friends riding wheel-on-wheel, elbow-to-elbow, flicking left and right down a slope that has seemingly endless opportunities is truly a sight to behold. The dirt, like ‘moon candy’, as
Mitch puts it, has grin-inducing grip and is unlike anything any of us has ridden before. After a full evening session on the volcano and a descent in the (almost) dark, we make it back to our accommodation on tired legs. Freeride suddenly makes more sense. In its simplest form, it’s about the buzz you get from riding with your mates.
No pisco no disco
“I’m not going out tonight. I want to ride all day tomorrow,” says Josh. Driving from Huilo Huilo to the lakeside town of Pucon is a bit of a mission. We arrive in time for the weekend and it seems nearly everyone else in Chile has had the same idea. Traffic queues are long, and it takes us the best part of a day to get from A to B – a journey that should have taken two hours. Our bodies and spirits worn from the heat of travel, we head to the beach to grab a beer and a bite to eat. The beachfront is bustling, the sun shining and the music thumping with that kind of arm-twisting persuasion that’s hard to ignore. The power of music in this moment puts us on track to find out why Pucon is renowned for its parties. Fast-forward a handful of hours and we’re sitting in the streets with what seems like the whole of Pucon, enjoying a two-hour power cut. Luckily, the grocery store is off-grid and manages to keep a supply of piscola – a potent mix of grape brandy and cola – flowing freely. A long night ensues and it becomes pretty clear why the masses flock to Pucon on any summer weekend.
The pace of Chilean life is definitely a notch on the dial or two slower than that of the UK and that’s perfect for us. Wake up, let the day warm up, enjoy a lazy morning, wait for the dust to bake and then head out in the afternoon to see what delights lie on the doorstep. And Pucon certainly isn’t lacking in delights.
Villarrica, its resident volcano, looms large over the town, and every so often throughout the day you’ll hear the eruption warning sirens being tested, their eerie whirring engulfing the valley. The volcano is active and last erupted in 2015. It’s also host to quite the array of trails in the summer, as well as skiing in the winter.
“Head here for freeride.” The local shop gives us a heads-up on where to ride on the volcano. Trails spur off from below the ski lift station and above is fair game to let your imagination run wild. If this volcano was in the UK there’s no way it’d be open for riding bikes, but in Chile they embrace the sport. We’ve found the ‘zone’ and, to be frank, don’t really know what to do with ourselves. Maybe the night before is catching up with us, or perhaps this blank canvas just seems overwhelming. We all stand there looking up towards the peak of Villarrica, not speaking. Romain makes the first move and starts climbing, foot after foot digging into the rich dirt. Half an hour passes and he’s nowhere to be seen – we’ve lost him to the vast grey slopes of this lofty peak. Another 15 minutes go by, still with no sign. And then, way up high, the faintest glint reflects the sun. Is it Romain?
I take out my drone and fly it up to the glimmer to investigate. There he is, a long way from us and not too far from the crater. A strange conversation via video drone then ensues. I want to film his descent, but I’ve got no idea which way he’s going to drop in. Through some obscure hand signals and an attempt at ‘nodding’ the drone, we agree we’re on the same page. I still
If this volcano was in the UK there’s no way it’d be open for riding bikes, but in Chile they embrace the sport
sessioning is good for the soul and good for the craft of bike riding, and witnessing this unfold daily feels rewarding on a whole different level
have no idea what’s going on, though. Romain dons his goggles, bounces once on his suspension and goes for it. “He’s dropping in,” I say. The next two minutes turn out to be quite possibly the wildest thing we witness the Silent Assassin ride on the entire trip. Riding blind and with ignorance on his side, he picks his way down the ragged slope in the way only he can – fast, smooth and on the edge. We stand frozen, our stoke levels about to blow their lid as he pulls up beside us, leaving a trail of dust in his wake. Cool and collected as ever, and with a massive smile on his face, he signs off with a modest, “Man, I’ve never had that feeling before… it was so, so good!”
The session
For myself, I feel like this trip has really solidified the importance of ‘the session’. I love crunching the miles and ticking off big days on the bike, but sessioning is an equally rewarding part of mountain biking. When I first started out, it’s how my friends and I rode. We’d sit on the same trail all day long, riding faster, jumping further and seeing who could hit a corner the tightest. It’s good for the soul and good for the craft of bike riding, and being in Chile with this crew and witnessing the sessions unfold daily feels rewarding on a whole different level. Adrian and I are here to document the trip, so our duties force a degree of stopping and starting on certain sections of trail, but we never have any ideas outside of composition. Loosedog is undoubtedly the king of the session. No one goes harder to see something through and it’s inspiring to see his creative mind at work on what I’d dismiss as a simple section of trail.
Our last couple of days on the road take us to the sleepy town of Nevados de Chillán. Coming from Pucon, it’s like a detox. The place is almost a ghost town and it feels refreshing. While the bike park here is small, it boasts a varied collection of trails. There’s plenty of the usual bike-park-style go-tos, then there are the natural trails on the perimeter, which played host to the Enduro World Series in 2014. All have their merits, as well as plenty of dust, of course. The sessions here are some of the best we could have hoped for. It’s the first place we’ve ridden that has more trails than we know what to do with. And the build quality is up there with the best. But every time, it’s the smallest sections that bring us the biggest smiles. A simple corner-to-corner that requires the ‘foot out, flat out’ approach, or a high line that takes some commitment to reach. Not to mention a long straight that’s just begging to be manualled.
We could happily spend a week in Nevados without ticking everything off. Being here for just two days forces our hand and we have to get picky – probably a good thing, as any longer might award us with lifelong health issues, given the amount of dust we’re inhaling. With barely time to shake off the dust, our roadtrip is over and it’s time to head back to Santiago, for the sixth edition of the Andes Pacifico – more ‘good shit’ beckons.