If you look at a Map, Golden BC is located west of Banff in the heart of the Rockies. Golden BC is home to Kicking Horse Mountain which has some of the longest lift-accessed descents in North America. Kicking Horse has a myriad of trails that range from beginner to expert – however for our purposes today there will be no fluff-filled stories of Green runs, or soft rolling hills. We’re talking about ball busting jumps, razor sharp cliffs and berms that you’ve only pictured in your dreams.

I’d like to tell you that every man, woman and child that faced the treacherous black runs that day walked away unharmed, unfortunately if you’re looking for a fairytale ending I suggest you close your browser and pop in the Lion King.

If you take a quick peek at the map that we’ve provided for you, you’ll notice on the right hand side a black run labeled ‘Blaster’ and trust us – the name suits it. After much debate and seeing 11 year old children hucking tricks off huge jumps we decided to stop acting like a bunch of pansies and face the hellish run. I tightened my helmet, adjusted my sack and held onto my handle bars for dear life as I kicked off to face the deep abyss.

Taking a look back at the run now I’d be willing to bet that it’s probably not something I’d ever do again; especially given the weather conditions we were in. With an extremely low ceiling that looked as if God were stroking the earth and rock slabs and wooded areas that were slipperier than Paris Hilton with a venereal disease, well…I think you can imagine.

Following close behind David (but not too close, that’s just gay) I steered my 60lb 3500 dollar unit down the slick steep single track. There's one 'worldly' rule that applies to every mountain bike hill in the world: once you’ve committed yourself to a run, there’s no looking back.

Amazingly I made it down 90% of the run before biting it hard and ironically enough, I’m a firm believer in ‘everything happens for a reason’. I stood up caked in mud and I began my descent walking with my bike down a portion of the run where I noticed a steep wooden berm that swirled around the mountains edge. Barely being able to walk across the berm, let alone ride it I noticed that Dave had stopped riding and was standing next to someone. I asked what had happened and a trail of blood began to unfold the story. It’s a simple equation really. Guy going really fast on his bike + slippery berm + using too much back brake = sliding off the berm. I looked off the edge of the canyon and it was about a 10 foot drop into the most unfriendly environment imaginable. It was filled with large boulders, tree stumps and shale; the guy probably would have been better off falling into a pit of lions. In the fog and clouds it was hard to see, but down below I could make out a hunk of metal which was the remains of his bike.

Using our 50 dollar radio’s we had purchased from Best Buy a few nights prior, we tried sending out a few SOS messages. Unfortunately, the channels were bombarded with Fathers talking to their daughters and I think we picked up the tale end of a conversation between two Asian ladies that were maids at our Hotel discussing who was cleaning room 109.

After a quick Pow-Wow with Dave we both agreed that buddy who flew off the berm probably suffered a concussion and a sprain in his right arm as he was bleeding badly from his right elbow and was unable to communicate properly with us. Since we were located directly in the bowels (middle) of the run we decided to be hero’s that day and face the rest of the horrid run to get a medi-crew up there to bring him down.

We hopped back on our hogs and raced down the rest of the mountain. For you to get a general idea of how long it takes to get down the mountain picture this: It’s a 20 minute gondola ride to the top and in 6 hrs, we only made 3 runs down the mountain (however we did stop for a bite to eat at the Eagles Eye Restaurant at the summit – I recommend the Steak Sandwich - delicious).

As we neared the bottom the skies had cleared and the clouds had dissipated. I glanced up at the mountain which was still covered in thick gravy like clouds. It seemed to grin back at me with a steely stare and whispered softly "Who's next?" We quickly alerted the resort staff and explained to them what had happened. The hippy that we talked to hadn't showered in about 3 years and the grease from his hair was enough to lube up ball bearings in my brothers car. He frantically radioed for help and questioned us as to where and when this had taken place. After about 5 minutes of shell-shocking interrogation we were free to go.

After this traumatic experience there is only one question that I asked myself: Has this series of unfortunate events affected my willingness to sacrifice my body on the mountain? I smirked as I got back into the gondola, “Not one bit.”

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