The Final Destination

....so we made it!

And Whistler is beautiful. It's a photographer' s dream. It's a shop-a-holic wife's dream. And its my 9-years-old at heart husband's Disneyland. Mountain bike trails for miles and miles and miles...ohmigosh!!! And the jumps are huge and legal! And there's beer right at the bottom of the mountain! And a professional will take your picture in a big berm! The only thing missing is Mickey! Wow!

(Picture it: this is like the photo everyone takes in front of the train and flowers at Main St. USA, Disneyland with their mouse ears on. We've got our gear, top o' the lift, ready to shred.)
Ha, anyways. We all secured ourselves 3-day lift tickets (Crusty Jr. scoring the kid's price of $71 by lying through his teeth, which in turn very much irritated Crusty Sr... hilarious.) 3 days may not seem like a lot of ride time for a week in Whistler, but after a full day (6-8 hours) of downhill, your body exhausted. A day or two of rest between DH days really is best.
The guys were actually really good to me, and stuck with me on day one. But I do have to say, there were quite a few women riding out there! It was cool to see so many chicks shredding, and daunting actually to see how talented some of them were. You'd think that I'd find that elusive girl friend I've been looking for. You know, 'chick who wants to ride DH with me by day and drink copious cocktails by night'. Nope, I didn't find my new BFF. Still accepting applications. But really, some of those chicks had impressive skills, and inspired me big time.
Anyways, that place really is a magical kingdom. The views from the chairlifts are breathtaking. We saw multiple black bears. There are chairlifts. No hike-a-bike Popeye legs. The berms are smooth and ripping. The jumps range in all sizes so even I feel like a badass. The rock gardens are gnarly so the guys get a challenge. The place is huge, so you get your own space. And did I mention the multiple bars at the bottom of the lift?

Happy girl, beautiful place.......
But just like a day at Disneyland, by the end, I'm so worn out I can't fathom another ride. Im sick of lines. I might die if I don't have a beer ASAP. My back is exhausted and my muscles are shaking. My hands are so tired from holding on to the bars that they feel 99 years old and arthritic. My head is a sauna from my full face. And I wont even get descriptive with the smell of my knee pads.
Due to our planning around Mother Nature (who promised rain on the weekend) we actually rode DH the first two days in a row. And unfortunately, my hands hadn't made a full recovery. I took it easy at the beginning of day 2, and re-rode some trails from the day before. I let Scott and CJ (Crusty Jr.) take off and do big boy trails, while Crusty & I stayed more mellow. Or so I thought. And that's when he tried to kill me. After leading me in to the gauntlet of all trails, I found myself bouncing down knee high roots which may as well have been stairs, and then faced with a rock CLIFF. I mean, not really, but sort of! A huge (we're talking 20+ feet high) natural rock formation where the double black diamond capable riders roll down. No big deal. Well turns out this girl isnt capable of inverting herself vertically, head first, on a bike. Cliff.
After a sketchy hike down (they say it's easier to ride than hike, perhaps there's something to that), he told me the worst was over, and I think he may have even half-assedly apologized. Cool. The next steep rooty section actually went really well. And we even worked on some drops. I hit a good 2 1/2-footer to flat. And the only other death defeating moment was when I blindly took a left corner into a massive ladder drop. But somehow I sucked it up, rolled down, and survived.
And then it happened. Cocky-ness set in. Wanting to get better, of course, but perhaps pushing the natural curve of things? Scott and I set off that afternoon so I could show him my new skills, and maybe get a sweet pic.  We searched out the aforementioned ladder drop, and found a good picture point. Sweet. The downside? Scott hasn't had nearly as much practice photographing me as I have him. So after a failed photo attempt, I climbed my ass back up the hill and re-attempted the ladder drop. And this time I gave it some pepper (hucked it in the air). And the result?

Sweet pic! I'm a bit on the down slope, so I'd like to think that the best picture actually would have been a half second earlier, when my whole bike/body was higher like my back wheel. Anyways, adhering to rule #1 (see my first post ever. And this is a rule I'm starting to re-think...) I will not lie. I ate shit. Not right when I landed. But as I rolled out of it, my fork was so compressed from all that heat I gave the jump, that I basically bounced over the handlebars, and Superman-ed my very un-padded body into a very HARD landing. Think rock slab.
I actually managed not to cry, dusted myself off, talked with Scott about what went wrong, and was stoked to see I got a sweet picture out of it. And, next run I went at the sucker again, just to prove to myself I could still do it. Take that, ladder nemesis!
As fate would have it, Scott crashed super hard just a few hours later, impaling his poor abdomen with his handlebar. That took both of us off the mountain (in the mid-afternoon, thankfully) for the rest of the day, and we licked our wounds (ew, not really) back at the condo. Hence,

The next day, the guys (and skewered Scott!) rode "The longest and most physically challenging singletrack ride in the Whistler valley" aptly named Comfortably Numb (I'm sure that Pink Floyd imagined a drug-induced numbness, while Whistler brought on a more bike seat induced numbness, if you know what I mean). While the hardest XC ride in Canada sounded enticing, I peaced-out, and shopped. For hours.
That night we had sushi with some famous pro-riders who Crusty knew, which was pretty cool. But it started with The Lawnmower. Another surprise, curteousy of Crusty. See, by this time, with 3 guys and 1 girl, all tequila and whiskey had been long since consumed. And all we had was vodka. Oh, and Superfood Odwalla. 1+1 = 2. Ketel One + Green Superfood Odwalla = The Lawnmower.

Oh yeah.
So after dinner, one thing led to another, and we went out to the bars. This night was the unfortunate incident which lead to the loss of the phone, and thus pictures. And the break in my beloved husband's 5th left rib.
Which lead to no more bikes for my poor husband. Thankfully by this time, there were only 2 days left in Canada, and a narcotic induced stupor made them quite bearable for him, I believe. Mind you, I'm not sure if the Percocet was more helpful for his physical pain, or his emotional pain from being in Whistler and being unable to ride.

It's not all bad though. We had an incredible journey, and Crusty and CJ are actually super easy people to travel with, and are great friends. I learned how to get outside my comfort zone on the bike, and thus also how to crash. And I learned that yes, bike conversation really can go from dawn til dusk, complete with breakfast viewings of bike videos. Scott learned that Percocet makes his feet numb. And that as he suspected, being a spectator instead of a rider, completely sucks. Crusty learned the secret to a good night's sleep is making CJ sleep on the couch. And I dont think CJ learned a thing, because he was shitfaced drunk nearly the whole time.
I already blogged about how the ride home made me feel, so I'll leave you with a favorite line from our Whistler trip:

"Black diamonds are a girl's best friend".