The Far East

The Far East
 
Resiliency is a word that can be defined as toughness. And while most mountain bike riders can be characterized as resilient, the mountain bikers in the Canadian province of Newfoundland could be the toughest of them all. 
 
It’s said that the weather shapes people. Nowhere is that so true than in Newfoundland. Its climate could be described as harsh with doses of moderately pleasant weather in the summer. Wait five minutes, it will probably change. Jutting out close to the middle of the North Atlantic, Newfoundland gets hammered by brisk Arctic fronts that often mix with tropical storms from the Gulf of Mexico. Rain rarely falls straight down, as hurricane-force winds are common. Snow is measured in feet, not inches. If you are lucky, you can experience all four seasons in one day.

The uniqueness of Newfoundland’s landscape would best be described as a combination of Ireland, the Cornish coast, and the Faroe Islands. A province so rich in history, it rivals anything else in North America. This is the spot where over a thousand years ago, Norse Vikings first landed and set up a small fishing community. European explorers came here to fish in the late fifteenth century and eventually decided to stay. It has the oldest city in North America, the capital St. John's, where today you'll find remnants of the past along with modern, diverse cultures, as well as a rich arts scene.

Newfoundlanders by nature have to be resilient to live, let alone, thrive. You would think that the combination of unpredictable weather and sporadic economic downturns would result in a miserable lot. Despite their hardships, Newfoundlanders are anything but miserable. Instead, they’re warm and inviting; always eager to lend a hand and offer you a piece of what they own. Literally. It is widely accepted here that strangers are welcomed into people’s homes, both in times of need and just for a visit. Generations of bad weather have produced fiercely resilient people who are as quick to call you on your bullshit as they are open to accepting you as a friend. If you visit, bring your sense of humour and let your guard down. Mind the big city attitude, as they’ll be quick to point it out. You’ll be called “my love” or “my dear” by everyone from old ladies to bank tellers, so be gracious and accept it. 

These innate traits that mostly all Newfoundlanders share are never more evident than in its mountain biking community. The term ‘close-knit’ gets thrown around a lot these days, but until you witness it firsthand, you’ll never understand fully the meaning of these words. Mountain biking destinations in Canada, for most, start and end in British Columbia. That would be ridiculously naive as the mountain bike scene is very strong in places like Newfoundland. 

Newfoundland’s bicycle community is tiny when compared to the west coast, but it could be argued that it is relatively stronger. 
 
The catalyst that spearheaded the growth in the riding scene could be pointed mostly to one man. That man is Chris Jerrett. He has been working behind the scenes for as long as there have been mountain bikes. Owner of Freeride Mountain Sports, Chris has been pushing other riders and promoting the scene in Newfoundland going back thirty years. Chris’ take would be far more humble, as he cites the need for involvement to allow his bike shop to survive. There is more to the story. Chris wanted trails to ride; he wanted others to have trails to ride. So, he decided to start building trails, sponsoring riders, and organizing races.
 
Chris Jerrett’s need for a mountain bike trail network helped spawn a new crop of riders. While a few of these riders became employees, some of them became customers, and many became friends. Chris always reminded new customers about a new trail-building project, sliding in a reminder that without trails, you don’t have anywhere to ride. His development of good trails, difficult ones at that, consequently developed talent. Chris’ trails took advantage of the rugged Newfoundland landscape, which in turn allowed certain riders to shine on the national stage. His dedication to building technically challenging trails helped result in a two-time national downhill champion in Matt Beer. Matt’s speed was earned on non-lift accessed trails against other riders who had places like Whistler. Matt’s double win was a victory for the whole province of Newfoundland, especially for Chris, who had a direct impact on Matt’s success.
 
Other riders, who were born in Chris’ bike shop, came of age in the Canadian cycling industry. From industry insiders to professional racers, they all worked for or were a part of Chris Jerrett’s bike shop in one form or another. If you happen to find yourself in a lift line at Whistler with a mountain biker from Newfoundland, it’s almost a guarantee that person knows Chris. I’ve known him for over a quarter century. I remember him as an ex-punk rock vocalist and skateboarder-turned-mountain biker who always reminded people how terrible roadies were. While that punk attitude has waned a little, fortunately, it still lurks under the surface.
 
I was born and raised in Newfoundland but didn’t cut my teeth in the cycling industry until I moved to BC in the late nineties. When I came back and witnessed the growth and comradery in the house that Chris helped build was a humbling experience. While attending a trail day in the second week of December, I witnessed volunteers over fifty strong. All of whom were happily moving rock and digging gold in near-freezing conditions. It happens every Sunday, rain or shine. The only thing stopping people is when the ground freezes. If one can assume that most of the volunteers worked full-time jobs, that would give them one day a week to ride. Their other day off is spent building trails. How many of us can say that we are that dedicated? 

Knowing what I do of the mountain bike scene on the West Coast, these numbers are proportionately large. I have put in countless trail-building hours in British Columbia that had three or four times the amount of riders and you might be lucky to get a couple of people out to lend a hand. From my perspective, the number of volunteers who showed up at this trail-building day was quite impressive. But to these guys, this is normal. 

“Yeah there are a lot of people here today, but we usually do get a lot if we’re cutting in a new line”, said Chris. “Everyone knows Sunday is build day.”

Not much is taken for granted, as riders know that you have to put a little in to get something out if you want mountain biking to flourish. Riders here have a short riding season, without a lot of trails nor support from landowners, so they give back the best way they know. Watching the builders work was a lesson in efficiency. Not many were standing around, not many were working in redundancy. Because their riding season is short, there is a hurried approach to building trails. Get it done. 

I asked him to describe in detail what trail building is like in Newfoundland. 

“It’s hard. There, done.”

Chris went on to provide more detail and give some insight as to the history of mountain biking in Newfoundland and his involvement, in helping develop the scene in the province.

“My earliest trails were built for cross-country races and I did not fully understand the impact of the trails and how the race scene could grow. I did not look at the growth of the sport and connect it to the trails. The trend in the nineties was cross-country riding and these trails were raw - no real design or plan, just basic cuts in the woods on private land with a verbal agreement with the landowner. 

By the late nineties, I opened my shop, Freeride, and once it was up and running, I realized to grow the sport we have to have places to ride. By 2005, we had A downhill race series with six races per season on five different tracks. The hill was only 600 feet high, so it was the best of two runs that took the win. I saw the impact of the racing at the shop as sales grew and finally fully realized the true growth of the sport and business side of things was the construction of trails.
By 2010, we had a mix style trail zone in the east end. The trails boarded on the Atlantic Ocean on one side and the small village of Quidi Vidi on the other. The place was becoming popular. On many of the build days, it was just me that showed up. Work was slow. The love of the art form of trail building is what kept me going.
Jump to 2020 and we now build once a week with an average of thirty people showing up. We have a strong organization with AMBA (Avalon Mountain Bike Association). The trails are always getting better as I now have more time for design, and for me, this is the best part. Planning where the trail will go and how it will flow, scouring the woods looking for control points is the art of the design.”
The mountain bike community doesn’t have it easy, as they get little support nor recognition for the talent that is bred here. As most trail-builders know, sometimes forgiveness is easier than permission, so Newfoundland’s mountain bikers know it’s up to them to develop their trail system without potential years of bureaucracy ahead of them. While most of us trail-builders have scratched illegal lines, we know that mountain biking is a viable tourism draw. Not here, as trail advocacy is twenty years behind the times if compared to other places like British Columbia. It’s for not a lack of effort, as the Avalon Mountain Bike Association's small crew of volunteers is constantly fighting for scraps in an area where they’re not recognized. 

The province’s tourism board hardly recognizes the existence of cycling as an activity, and mountain biking is virtually non-existent. Those who oversee tourism promotion here say that nobody comes to Newfoundland to ride bikes, but many people working within it would disagree. Any publicity that promotes mountain biking here is almost always created from within. St. John’s doesn’t have the legend that a place like Squamish has, but the riding is every bit as intense while being way more scenic.

Every rider and trail builder here works for themselves and the greater good of the riding community. Nobody wants, nor expects a pat on the back. There is no bragging about what they’ve accomplished. There is a very quiet humility - something we can all learn from. That’s part of the charm. Mountain bikers here know what they have and they’re fiercely proud. They built it, they fought for it, and they own it. Their hard work is one hundred percent driving the industry here. Maybe the best part is, they don’t push the outside world away. They love sharing their hard work with anyone who decides to visit. 

Chris Jerrett’s shop saw a resurgence, as many did when COVID hit. He expanded his floor space to over double the original footprint. He has more high-end bikes than any shop in Eastern Canada. That growth didn’t just appear out of nowhere, that’s the cumulation of almost thirty years of hard work building the mountain biking scene in Newfoundland.


The mountain bike community here is unapologetic 'Newfoundland' to its core - caring, humble, and undoubtedly resilient.


Wayne Parsons