JAMIE DARLOW, FRONT SECTION EDITOR
Mtb’s movers and shakers select their favourite places to ride
Jamie Darlow has written for mbr for over a decade, but incredibly remains the mag’s newest (and youngest) member of staff. He cut his teeth riding XC bikes in the South Downs before getting his gnar on in the Surrey Hills, earning the impressive moniker ‘Gnarlow’. He remains to this day a passionate writer, committed tester, and mediocre rider.
What is mountain biking? That seems like a pretty daft question at first, until you actually sit down and try to come up with your own definition for our sport (if indeed it really is a sport, but I really don’t want to get drawn down rabbit hole). It’s not easy. Look it up in the dictionary or pretty much anywhere online and, I kid you not, mountain biking is defined as “riding a mountain bike,” which is a dreadful cop-out. The solution is to give up. Instead, describe it through our actions, and My Best Trail defines what mountain biking is for me…
It’s 2013 and I’m out on a multiday ride on the Colorado Trail, a high Alpine route from Denver to Durango that’s now considered one of the best long-distance trails in the world. Every day it’s different. I start part way along, in the gold rush mining town of Silverton, on a bone-dry, rocky trail. It flows smoothly and carefully down an old railway line, cut into the side of a mountain, with a loose and precipitous drop on one side - I feel like John
Wayne, if only he moved quicker.
The next day we’re in lush forest,
70ft ceilings of spruce and fir, crossing streams waist deep in bone-chilling water. Mostly I remember the trees though, noisy when the wind blew, closing out the sky, fallen trunks making everything but the trail impossible.
Then there are the passes, hardto-reach places thanks to the lack of oxygen at 10,000ft, but well worth the struggle, with views straight out of Hollywood. We drop down the otherside on loose scree, two wheels drifting in the turns, hearts in our mouths.
In the evenings we pitch camp wherever looks decent, drink beer, eat local game roasted on the BBQ and swap stories with the other riders on the trip. Then we crawl into our tents, half frozen from staying up too late in the mountain air, and dream of doing it all over again the next day.
This is mountain biking for me.
AS CHOSEN BY...
It flows smoothly and carefully down an old railway line... I feel like John Wayne, if only he moved quicker