You sometimes forget how to ride a bike
The launching point at Sunnyside Bike Park, moments before I tasted dirt
"You’re going to die."
My coworker Adam Sterritt is blunt about our next ride. We’re going to Sunnyside Bike Park, near High Park.
He has a point. The start/end point for the jump lines is a raised plateau between Gardiner Expressway and Lakeshore Boulevard West. A steep, smooth hill takes the rider down to the jump lines. Last time we rode Sunnyside, an overabundance of speed took me two metres past the landing ramp of the small tabletop, sending me face-first into the dirt at an uncomfortable velocity.
Besides, this is how mountain bikers interact. When another friend broke his clavicle, we mocked him for crashing on an easy trail. We are pitiless and competitive, in discourse and in riding.
My friends still are, anyway. And I try to be. I haven’t been the same since I broke my back.
Since I turned four of my thoracic vertebrae into crumpled wedges early last year, this summer has been a cycle of excuses and back pain, with very little riding time leading me to question whether I still enjoy the sport.
As I unload my bike from my car for tonight’s ride with the Wild Bettys cycling club, I balk at the routine. Every time I consider riding Toronto’s Don Valley trails, my mind runs a preview of my favourite segments. They are evasive moments of adrenaline and speed made to feel mundane by the profuse bland paths in between. But tonight is about the Wild Bettys.
The Bettys replaced Fly Gurlz, Canada’s first women’s mountain bike club. After the club’s 12-year run ended in 2009, member and accomplished racer Melinda Davie sat down with some friends to devise a replacement.
“We spent a number of nights at the pub over the winter, and we decided we wanted to do something, but we couldn’t come up with a name,” said Davie.
“One of the gals found the mountain biking dictionary online, and came up with “Betty” and another gal decided that “wild” was a good thing.”
The Bettys post as the only women’s mountain biking club in Ontario is unsurprising considering the dearth of female riders. Pinkbike.com, one of the world’s largest sources of mountain biking news, polled its readers on gender. As of October 9th, 2874 readers had responded. Sixty-nine were women.
I fractured three vertebrae, and cracked one
Barry Near, owner of midtown’s Trek Bicycle Store, sees the Bettys as a critical entry point into the sport.
“The thing we forget is that all this fancy equipment we’re riding, all these great trails in the middle of the city, it all comes from riders. You need a whole lot of things to make this sport successful, and you just don’t get that from just a few guys,” says Near.
Since 2009, the group has grown from a handful to 114. This October evening, at the back of this Leaside Loblaws parking lot, we are seven.
At 6:30, we hop the curb and roll through the trees to the circular clearing that is the trailhead.
We set off single-file down the steep, rutted trail. I only enjoy momentary speed, however, as the women ahead don’t share the reckless abandon of a 21-year-old with no sense of consequence.
Partway up the other side, we stop for oncoming riders. The edge of the trail drops off, and the woman ahead of me slips down as the riders pass.
She’s unscathed, and while she retrieves her headlight I talk to Chantal Leclerc about the ride.
“I’ve got a full time job and I’ve got kids. What I love about this ride is that it gets me out into nature once a week. When I’m here, I don’t have to think about anything else.”
“I enjoy having it in the city,” Leclerc continues, “I would have thought that I’d have to leave the city to mountain bike. I love seeing how the city has been able to preserve these natural green spaces.”
The ride resumes at its unremarkable pace. I’m beginning to enjoy myself, though. At this speed, I find myself plotting lines rather than reacting to the terrain, and my riding seems smoother.
Halfway in, I’ve managed to silence the impulse to overtake the rider ahead and lose the rider behind. The goal tonight is to match their speed and enjoy the moment.
Whereas “every man for himself” befits my usual rides, “all for one and one for all” is the ethos of the Bettys. Lisa Fender, an accomplished racer, is hanging back with the Melanie Sherwood. We hear their cheerful conversation through the trees as we let them catch up.
Lisa started biking “because of a boy,” but quickly discovered the Bettys.
“It gives you a sense of confidence that you wouldn’t get riding with men. Women tend to be more nurturing, more patient.” says Fender. “Riding with the club has exposed me to so much more than I ever thought I’d get out of riding—I’m part of the race team, and this year I was provincial champ.”
At the end of the two-and-a-half-hour ride, we re-emerge into the dark parking lot. Snacking on Clif Bars beside the SUV, we discuss the club.
“I love the Bettys. It’s all organized, I don’t have to think about it. I just have to get there with my bike and ride.” Sherwood says. Leclerc agrees, “We get a lot of fun, and really good energy to bring back to other facets of our life.”
The trails looked different at their pace. Getting back into my car, I’m looking forward to my next ride like I haven’t for two seasons.