MOUNTAIN LIFE - Blue Mountains | Fall 2017

130 ML BLUE FALL 2017 BACK PAGE words and photo :: Colin Field It isn’t much of a trail, but I know it’s there. At least it used to be there. If you hang a right at a certain point off the main trail at Loree, you can ride down to the Georgian Trail. Which makes for the perfect car drop: Loree to PomPom Treat Hut. It’s easy to convince your kid it’s a good idea if it ends with ice cream. But, like I say, there isn’t much of a trail. It is the lack of a clear path that leads my son to ask, “How do you know where to go?” It’s a good question and one of the fears I’d had about this entire adventure. Would this even work? I’ve brought along one of his friends, compounding the chance for disaster and bringing more doubts about the entire idea. Will they be up for it? Will we need to turn back? How is this all going to go down? Will we get a flat? Scraped knees? Will we get lost? Is there still a trail? It’s often said it’s not an adventure unless unknown outcomes occur, and that’s what I was going for. But when that unknown creates a stressful, miserable disaster, well, that’s when it all proves not worth it. And that’s when “going for a bike ride” is ruined forever. “Have a look ahead of me,” I say to my son. “See the trail now?” While there isn’t much there, you can just make out where the trail goes: a dark line of space between the thick summer growth on either side. The soil beneath the trail was compacted years before, leaving a thin strip of bare earth. Flowers, plants, grasses and trees along the edge of the bare spot take advantage of the open canopy and flop over into the space. “Yeah, okay,” he says hesitantly, “I see it, but you lead the way.” I ride slowly, brakes on, trying not to get too far ahead of them. They follow behind cautiously, but happily. We pass through giant ferns that nearly obliterate the trail, thorny bushes to the side of the trail and unseen ruts and rocks. As we roll downwards, I can hear the kids enjoying the thrill of descent. They are wooing, yipping and singing behind me, loving the feeling. Then my son says something that completely surprises me. “We’re really lucky,” he yells. I’m intrigued. “Oh, yeah, why’s that?” “The plants are scratching my mosquito bites.” It’s true. After weeks of compulsively scratching away at itchy legs, the ferns are doing all the work: scratching our legs like old friends helping us out as we ride by. “The thorn bushes would work even better,” he yells at me from behind. While the idea of riding through a bunch of thorn bushes is actually a terrible idea, I don’t bother correcting him. They are having fun, we are so far from disaster and as we pop out onto the Georgian Trail, I realize it’s all going to be okay. Better than okay. As we catch our breath and get our bearings, his friend says to me with a giant grin on her face, “I’ve never been on a bike ride like this before.” Disaster averted; adventure for the win. DISASTER AVERTED RIDING A SELDOM-USED TRAIL INTO THE UNKNOWN