This spring, I’ve developed a new love for mountain biking.
Let’s be clear: just because I love it doesn’t mean I’m good at it. My heavy reliance on the brakes and abundant collection of bruises are evidence enough of what a novice I am. Nevertheless, most weekends you’ll find me out on Galbraith Mountain — dirty, sweating and wearing a massive smile.
If you’d asked me a year ago whether I had any interest in mountain biking, the answer would have been a hard no. For one thing, I was a broke college student. I didn’t have a mountain bike, a car or even a decent helmet.
For another, I didn’t know who to go with.
When I looked at the Bellingham mountain biking scene, I saw a thriving community with an infectious sense of verve — but I also saw a community that was overwhelmingly male, and full of people who went down black diamond trails like they were nothing. I certainly didn’t see anywhere that I fit in.
By March of this year, I had all but accepted that learning to mountain bike was nowhere in my near future. Then, I discovered the Western Trailblazers — a newly formed, beginner-friendly mountain biking club for women and nonbinary riders at Western Washington University. Before long, I was up on Galbraith, careening down the Unemployment Line trail for the first time on a borrowed bike.
Riding with the Trailblazers has been incredible — but it’s also gotten me thinking. How many folks are in the same position I was in, intrigued but unsure of where to start?
As it turns out, I’m not the only one who’s felt stuck.
Kari Humphreys is the board president and co-founder of Shifting Gears, a nonprofit dedicated to helping women break down barriers in outdoor recreation. Like me, she started her mountain biking journey watching the community from afar, quickly noticing the camaraderie it brewed.
Without too much effort, Humphreys found a $300 used hardtail bike. Getting out to the mountain, however, proved trickier.
“It took me six or seven months of looking at that bike in the kitchen before I said, ‘I think I need to actually go on a mountain bike ride,’” she said. “I was too intimidated. Even though I had the bike and the helmet, you know, the basics to go do this thing, I still didn’t have the answer of, where do I go? How will I know where I’m going when I’m out there? How do I keep myself safe? What do I need to bring?”
Eventually, Humphreys’ friend, Shifting Gears co-founder Jenny Schmidt, coaxed her out to Galbraith. By the end of that first ride, Humphreys knew she wanted more — and she also knew she wanted to find a way to help other women experience the same thing.
Now, Shifting Gears hosts weekly women’s mountain bike rides at Galbraith, along with weekly paddles at the Community Boating Center and weekly climbs at Vital Climbing Gym. The goal, Humphreys said, is to remove the emotional barriers that often come with learning a new sport.
“We started out with the intention of sort of being that friend that says, ‘Oh, you’re interested in doing this thing, and I know how to do this thing. Let me show you the way,’” she said.
The group also helps fill in gaps when it comes to knowledge and equipment, hosting bike maintenance and safety workshops and an annual Bellingham Bike Swap, where community members can buy consigned bikes and gear.
The JoyRiders, a Whatcom Mountain Bike Coalition club for women and gender-nonconforming femme folks, also host weekly rides from May through September, split up by skill level so no one gets left behind. The group is looking forward to putting on a women’s bonus race in June after the Whatcom World Cup, in partnership with Queens of Dirt.
At regular Whatcom World Cup races, JoyRiders ride lead Molly Prentice estimates that only about a quarter of the 200 weekly participants are female. By contrast, about 150 women have signed up for the bonus race. At events like this, the name of the game is support and encouragement.
“A lot of people coming into the sport just at the beginning look around and think, ‘Oh, everybody’s going to be better than me, I don’t want them to see me failing or wrecking or whatever,’” Prentice said. “The truth is that every woman that I have met through mountain biking is really welcoming and really understanding, and they were all people that were in the exact same spot as you are.”
A year ago, I might have had a hard time believing Prentice’s words. But the more time I’ve spent on Galbraith, the truer they’ve felt.
At the end of April, I took my first solo ride on the south side. After a dogged climb nearly 1,000 feet up the mountain and a less-than-valiant descent down U-Line, I found myself stopped at the top of Atomic Dog next to another woman.
A-Dog had me intrigued, but also nervous. I’d only been out mountain biking twice before, and I had no idea what it would be like.
“It’s not too bad,” the woman said. “You can follow me down if you want. I’ll go easy.”
In a matter of words, my entire ride shifted. Suddenly, I wasn’t tired or trepidatious or feeling out of place; I was excited, maybe even bordering on confident.
This is why community matters. When you experience people coming alongside you, you feel empowered. When you see people who look like you, you feel like you belong.
When I go mountain biking, it isn’t glamorous. I cram my loaner bike into the back of my Honda Fit, grab my $2-yard-sale-find helmet, and pray that today is not the day that I fly over the handlebars. But without a community of women showing me the ropes, encouraging me and connecting me with resources, all of that would still be a distant vision.
For those of you like me, find a group or a friend or a partner that makes you feel welcome on the mountain. And for those who have been at it for a while, don’t be afraid to be that friend. We newbies sure appreciate it.
