If we thought about it too much we’d probably quit. NSMB.com denizens tend to ride aggressive terrain and to ride it appropriately. I don’t like saying it any more than you like hearing it, but injury is a possibility every time we put feet to pedals. Is that spectre part of the allure? I’m not so sure. If actual physical risk was a requirement for activities that suck in danger seekers, Fortnite, slasher flicks, and roller coasters wouldn’t exist.



I know very few riders who have always fallen into the casual category, likely because of both where I live and my chosen ‘profession.’ I do however know some who have become casual riders. Before I met my surgeon-neighbour, whose hands are slightly more useful and valuable than mine, he broke both wrists and was unable to wield his scalpel for six months (I don’t yet know the details ). He still rides but has forsaken gravity, choosing the few trails on the North Shore that go up and down very little. I have another friend who can’t fathom taking the sorts of risks that are well within the accepted range for many of us. His words convey admiration but his face suggests pity and bewilderment. And yet the gap between what he does on a bike - occasionally ride to the beach in the summer, - and what I do, is smaller than the gap between what I do and what Andreu Lacondeguy does. Risk tolerance is a relative concept.

There are a handful of riders who can go toe to toe with Andreu on the bike, but nobody seems to handle the pressure like he does. It’s like he is laughing at 50 foot drops at Rampage or 65 foot backflip tables at the Fest series for thinking they could mess with him. He comes off as invincible. And yet he has at times stepped away when he hasn’t felt comfortable, both at Crankworx and once when the wind at Rampage made his run even more dangerous. Maybe confidence is dependent on our ability to know when we should step away?

Within the treacherous realm of impolite trails, jumps and drops, we all take steps to manage our exposure. Turning my back on moves that used to be routine is okay with me now, on days when I’m not feeling it. Unfortunately management only goes so far when you ride your bike on the edges of civilization because randomness rarely works in our favour. Trails change from day to day, branches fall, saboteurs sabotage, bears and/or cougars appear, bicycle parts fail, our reckless buddy up front dislodges a baby head because of his heavy brake hand: unanticipated circumstances are part of the allure of playing in the woods or the desert, but they are also the most unruly peril we face.

A huge part of our industry is devoted to making strap-on bits to keep us out of hospital, but somehow that’s ‘gear.’ To me the reality behind helmets, braces, gloves and ‘armour’ is obscured by the level of denial that is essential for those of us who won’t stop doing stupid things on mountain bikes until we are forced to. Ours is also a sport that rewards and exults bravado, from the top to the bottom. What feels better than cleaning a rock face or a drop we’ve been eyeing up for years? We are like moths to flame.