It’s a regular bike park welcome with the bike shop in a ski-style design, kitted out with brand new Treks and Konas to rent, alongside helmets and protective gear. The false weather forecast must have scared other riders away, as we’re virtually alone on this idyllic day. There’s no queuing for the lifts, and the super tacky trails are purely for us. Somewhere above us the chair lift disappears into the blue sky – the mountain can’t be that small then, I reason. There’s a golf course, a country club and a modern cable car setup with robust Whistler-style bike racks. The small ski resort and three-year-old bike park of Bryce is welcoming and well equipped. It strikes me as a long-forgotten film set from the days of black and white television. We’re in the South here and they’re proud of that – just as proud as they are to be American patriots. Colour comes in the form of the American and the Confederate flag, the hugely controversial flag of the Confederate army, still showing the divide between North and South American. In front of the trailer homes, front yards are crammed with cars from the 70s, more than ready for the scrapheap. Typically American wooden houses with shady terraces and huge trees, some are ancient and others meticulously looked-after.īut in the next instant there are abandoned homesteads, mounds of litter and a sense of decay. There are typically American wooden houses with shady terraces and huge trees, some are ancient and others meticulously looked-after. Friendly farmers wave from inside their pick-up trucks, greeting you like a long-lost friend. Avert your gaze from the humongous cities, the monotonous strip malls and packed highways, and the countryside with its infinite horizon and endlessly undulating green forests is definitely pleasing on the eye. We drive through the stunning Shenandoah Valley in the sunshine, it’s a sticky 35☌. The reward is virtually instantaneous, as the forecasted bad weather fails to materialize. Mike and Chris convinced me to check-out Bryce Mountain Bike Park – and it was a fun day! The disses are unbearable, and this ‘old’ man’s I-don’t-give-a-fuck mentality slowly starts to rub off on me. My pleas to postpone the trip fall on deaf ears, and I’m ridiculed and tarnished as a fair weather rider. Torrential rain at night and muggy storms in the afternoon turn the bike park into a mud fest. It’s a great park! ’ Shortly before we set off, the region becomes a rainforest once more. He convinces me: ‘ Haters gonna hate, don’t listen to them. Bryce Resort, Virginia’s only bike park, found on the border of West Virginia and less than two hours from Washington D.C.Īt one point the weather is finally getting better and Mike, my partner in crime when it comes to riding trips, happens to have a rare, race-free weekend. Somewhat mistakenly, as I later discover. I ended up leaving Bryce on the shelf for weeks. I duly looked elsewhere, writing it off as a family-friendly tourist attraction. Moreover, the park did seem to attract a lot of negativity on the Internet: ‘nice sidewalks’, ‘way too harmless’ and ‘boring’ were the order of the day. Week after week of bad weather meant that it took a while before I managed to squeeze in a visit call me a wimp but having to queue and take cable cars in monsoon-like rain isn’t my idea of a great day at the bike park. Then along came the day when I heard word of Bryce Resort, Virginia’s only bike park, found on the border of West Virginia and less than two hours from Washington D.C. Professional build lines, nice berms and a comfy lift service make for a great day on the bike. The Transition TR450, my go-to for the big hits, sat collecting dust for months before I heard about Bryce Mountain Bike Park. The Transition TR450, my go-to for the big hits, sat collecting dust for months, as the next known bike park is at least four hours away – a distance that my inner German still considers to be a good halfway round-the-world trip, and certainly not a journey I’d make in a day. So it was perhaps only natural that my new hometown’s glaring absence of such opportunities came as a disappointment to me. Let’s face it, us Europeans have been spoilt: Germany, France, and the Alps in particular, are a hotbed of trails that can keep us entertained for weeks, granting us thousands of vertical metres. Until a few years ago Virginia had nothing to offer in terms of a bike park with easy lift access and professionally built lines. I ended up leaving Bryce bike park on the shelf for weeks.
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