We’d gone off course. My Garmin was stubbornly insisting otherwise but even in the dark, we could see by the shoulder-high grass and rutted out singletrack below that no bikers had gone this way for a very long while.
After what we’d gone through in the past six hours, this section of bike-pushing, weed-clearing and technical riding had initially seemed par for the course. After the snow and creek crossings, cattle-ruined fields, sheer cliff faces, rockfall and small boulder obstacles, what was a bit of singletrack?
