This is my mom, on Downward Dog — Fernie's newest trail — on a fall day that had no business being as perfect as it was. Larches turning. Air sharp enough to wake you up. That particular slant of October light that makes everything look like it's been colour graded already. The riders nobody films I've spent a lot of time behind a camera on mountain trails, and I've noticed something about who ends up in the footage. It's young riders. Almost always. Sending big features, hitting jumps, going fast. And there's nothing wrong with that — it's exciting to watch and it's exciting to shoot. The industry has been built on it. But it isn't the most interesting thing happening on these trails. The most interesting thing is the people who never stopped. The ones who keep buying the season pass. The ones who show up in October when it's cold in the shade and the light goes early, clip in, and ride a brand new trail just because it's there and it's new and why wouldn't you. Nobody makes edits about them. And I think that's a mistake, because they're the proof of the thing the rest of us are secretly worried about: that there's a window, and it closes, and once it's shut you're just a person who used to do things. She's 63. The window is not shut. What I actually see through the lens Here's what's striking when you watch someone ride who has been doing it for decades. There's no ego in it. Nothing to prove to anyone, including herself. No performance for the camera, no checking whether anyone's watching, no counting how many people saw it afterward. She rides the way you'd read a book you love — because the thing itself is the point. That's rarer than good technique, and it's much harder to fake. You can see it in a photo. It's the reason this one works. I think that's also what people respond to when they see images like this. It isn't really about mountain biking. It's about watching somebody who is completely, uncomplicatedly happy doing a thing they chose. Most of us would like more of that, and most of us have talked ourselves out of it somewhere along the way. About the trail Downward Dog is Fernie's newest trail, and it's a good one — the kind of addition that makes a trail network feel alive rather than finished. Fernie has become one of the best riding towns in Canada for exactly this reason: the community keeps building, and the people who ride here span every age bracket you can think of. October might be the best month for it. The crowds thin out, the colours come in, and the whole Elk Valley gets quiet in a way it never is in July. If you've only ever ridden Fernie in summer, you're missing the better half of the season. You're not too late I know people who have stopped riding, or stopped skiing, or never started, because somewhere along the line they decided they'd aged out of it. I film in the mountains for a living, and I can tell you it isn't true. Out here the trails are full of people in their fifties, sixties and seventies who simply never asked permission to quit. They're not remarkable because they're old. They're remarkable because they kept going, and keeping going turns out to be the whole secret. So if you've been telling yourself you're past the age where you get to start something — a bike, a camera, a business, anything — you're not. There's a 63-year-old who'd like a word.
This is my mom, on Downward Dog — Fernie's newest trail — on a fall day that had no business being as perfect as it was. Larches turning. Air sharp enough to wake you up. That particular slant of October light that makes everything look like it's been colour graded already. The riders nobody films I've spent a lot of time behind a camera on mountain trails, and I've noticed something about who ends up in the footage. It's young riders. Almost always. Sending big features, hitting jumps, going fast. And there's nothing wrong with that — it's exciting to watch and it's exciting to shoot. The industry has been built on it. But it isn't the most interesting thing happening on these trails. The most interesting thing is the people who never stopped. The ones who keep buying the season pass. The ones who show up in October when it's cold in the shade and the light goes early, clip in, and ride a brand new trail just because it's there and it's new and why wouldn't you. Nobody makes edits about them. And I think that's a mistake, because they're the proof of the thing the rest of us are secretly worried about: that there's a window, and it closes, and once it's shut you're just a person who used to do things. She's 63. The window is not shut. What I actually see through the lens Here's what's striking when you watch someone ride who has been doing it for decades. There's no ego in it. Nothing to prove to anyone, including herself. No performance for the camera, no checking whether anyone's watching, no counting how many people saw it afterward. She rides the way you'd read a book you love — because the thing itself is the point. That's rarer than good technique, and it's much harder to fake. You can see it in a photo. It's the reason this one works. I think that's also what people respond to when they see images like this. It isn't really about mountain biking. It's about watching somebody who is completely, uncomplicatedly happy doing a thing they chose. Most of us would like more of that, and most of us have talked ourselves out of it somewhere along the way. About the trail Downward Dog is Fernie's newest trail, and it's a good one — the kind of addition that makes a trail network feel alive rather than finished. Fernie has become one of the best riding towns in Canada for exactly this reason: the community keeps building, and the people who ride here span every age bracket you can think of. October might be the best month for it. The crowds thin out, the colours come in, and the whole Elk Valley gets quiet in a way it never is in July. If you've only ever ridden Fernie in summer, you're missing the better half of the season. You're not too late I know people who have stopped riding, or stopped skiing, or never started, because somewhere along the line they decided they'd aged out of it. I film in the mountains for a living, and I can tell you it isn't true. Out here the trails are full of people in their fifties, sixties and seventies who simply never asked permission to quit. They're not remarkable because they're old. They're remarkable because they kept going, and keeping going turns out to be the whole secret. So if you've been telling yourself you're past the age where you get to start something — a bike, a camera, a business, anything — you're not. There's a 63-year-old who'd like a word.
