Words & Images Liam Friary
The Pacific Northwest has always held a certain mystique for mountain bikers. Its loamy trails, dense forests and mountainous terrain have been home to some of the world’s best shredders, and have helped shape the culture of our sport.
I was fortunate enough to take a winter hiatus earlier this year, to trip around some of North America. This part of the journey took me from the iconic trails of Bellingham, Washington, through British Columbia’s interior, ultimately landing us in Golden. The ‘us’ is me and one other – Chris Mandell. Just one video call led me to this situation; Chris was meeting a larger crew (travelling from other regions) in Golden for the 25th Anniversary of Psychosis, so I hitched a ride.
Bellingham served as our launch point; its reputation as a mountain bike haven is well- earned. The town sits nestled between the Salish Sea and the North Cascades, where trails seem to sprout from every fold in the landscape.
There’s a ton of riding options here and even if you spent weeks, you’d only just be scratching the surface. One of the main local riding locations is Galbraith Mountain. The network offers more than 65 miles of pristine singletrack that’s been methodically crafted over decades. Before heading north, we squeezed in an afternoon session on some of Galbraith’s finest. It was dry but the dirt was tacky, and the trails were so damn fun. Pacific Northwest trail builders craft with precision—berms and jump lines are dialled, but there’s also a heap of tight hand-cut singletrack. I was itching to get more trail time in, but we needed to gap it.
The van was packed. Two trail bikes, a DH bike, spare wheels, tyres, a heap of bike paraphernalia, clothes, some food and coffee and, after a quick homecooked lunch, we were set: ready to hit the road north. The border crossing at Sumas was relatively quick, and, soon enough, we were cruising through British Columbia’s Fraser Valley. The landscape gradually transformed from coastal rainforest to the drier interior as we pushed eastward. I was just trying to take everything in whilst also attempting to find an afternoon ride and dinner location. I wasn’t just a passenger, more like a co-pilot. We found a riding location to spin our legs, but it wasn’t really the mountain biking we were after as it was actually a cross-country ski course (in the winter, of course). We pedalled anyway as it was good to get the body moving again after spending a few hours in the van. We jumped back in and, within about ten minutes or so, we saw a heap of cars parked up at a trail head. Turns out that was a better location and had ‘real’ mountain bike trails. Oh well, that’s the joy of travel—right?!
After dinner in Kamloops, we pinned our first overnight stop to Salmon Arm. It’s a modest town on the shores of Shuswap Lake that’s quietly been developing its own mountain bike identity. The South Canoe trail network here is a testament to grassroots community building—local riders have turned hillsides into playgrounds, with trails that range from flowy cross-country to technical descent lines.
The morning light in Salmon Arm painted the lake in silvers and blues as we loaded up on coffee and breakfast sandwiches from a local cafe. After an hour or so of clearing the digital backlog, we were set for another day of road tripping. The air was crisp, typical of early summer in the BC interior. We surveyed Trail Forks and spotted a good trail en route. We drove the van up a fire road and parked at the trail exit. The climb up was peaceful, switch-backing through stands of cedar and fir with occasional glimpses of the Shuswap peeking through the trees. The descent was fast, flowing tight singletrack punctuated by natural rock rolls and root gaps that seemed purposefully placed by nature itself. I clipped a tree towards the end of the trail and catapulted myself off the bike. After a dust off, I fixed my bars and gathered myself before descending the rest of the trail. Stoke levels were high back at the van.
Golden was calling. But first: a short stopover in Revelstoke for lunch and multiple coffees. The urge to ride this iconic mountain biking location was at an all time high, but the timeline just didn’t allow for it, unfortunately. Here’s hoping I’ll get back there one day. Instead, we took in the historic charm of the town before hitting the road again. The drive east took us through some of BC’s most dramatic terrain—Rogers Pass cuts through the heart of the Selkirk Mountains, where glaciers still cling to peaks and the Trans- Canada Highway fits perfectly into the splendid scenery. The chat at this point was mostly about ski lines you could hit during the winter months. That’s certainly a trip for another time!
Golden appeared below us as we descended from Rogers Pass, nestled in the confluence of the Columbia and Kicking Horse Rivers, with Mt. 7 looming above like a staunch sentinel. The energy in town was all about the return of Psychosis. This is a race that had achieved almost mythical status in the mountain bike world, running from 1999 to 2008. After some dormant times, the race had been resurrected for its 25th Anniversary, drawing riders from here, there and almost everywhere to test themselves on one of the most demanding downhill tracks ever raced. Mt. 7’s course drops 1,200 vertical metres over seven kilometres, with some super steep gradients that would make a theme park seem lame.
The atmosphere in Golden was electric. The small town was buzzing, with bikes appearing from every corner. Our homestay for the event was an iconic local legend, Mark (Rabbit) Ewan. Rabbit had energy to burn and would not only house us but host us and get us anywhere we needed to be in Golden. It felt like we were with the mayor, as wherever we went with him in this small mountain town, he knew someone. His enthusiasm was infectious. Rabbit’s house was soon taken over by a flock of mountain bikers dossing down wherever space allowed. Thankfully, his wife and kids were out of town. A quick evening shuttle run was the order – I picked up the role of driver and the hoots and hollers on the way up were only louder on pick up at the bottom of the run. Rabbit took in some elements of the racecourse but wanted to venture off piste too. Dinner was served in the backyard, with bikes being tinkered with late into the night, thanks to the endless daylight that stuck around until 11pm.
Dawn was met with pancakes and maple syrup, washed down with coffee. Before long, we were driving back up Mt. 7’s access road, a rutted forest service path that twisted its way up. The view from the top is incredible and not only does it serve as a starting point for the riding trails, but a paragliding launch site, too. Columbia Valley stretched out below, with the morning mist still clinging to the river’s curves. Several runs later, the crew become a little more confident but there was still a nervous energy amongst them.
The race itself was a spectacle of human determination. Watching riders tackle the infamous ‘Dead Dog’—a steep, exposed section that had everyone’s hearts in their throats—was both terrifying and mesmerising. The level of commitment required to race this mountain at speed is hard to fathom, even for experienced riders. Between practice runs and race heats, the stories flowed. Tales of legendary runs from the day—and from the original Psychosis days—of broken bikes and broken bones, but mostly of the strong mountain biking community. Our crew all did well and kept their bikes upright and bones intact. The finish area party was strong, with music, beers, food and an electric atmosphere. This was all grass roots, with nothing flamboyant about it; as authentic as it gets. The crew were stoked to re-live yesteryear, reminiscing about the racing scene and how it reminded them that bikes have the power to bring like-minded people together.
Our final evening in Golden was spent at the after party, held at a local bar where racers, support crew and spectators celebrated hard with a 90’s punk band doing covers. It got quite loose as the intensity of the music ramped up – think: mosh pits, no shirts and an electric atmosphere that would rival some concerts these days. The return of this iconic event represents mountain biking’s raw soul. The stories shared that night weren’t just about racing, but the lifestyle that surrounds the sport, too. Psychosis is all about preserving a piece of mountain bike history and culture that often gets overlooked in the new era.
As we loaded up for the journey to my next location, Golden’s morning light painting Mt. 7 in alpenglow—it was clear why events like Psychosis matter. In an age where mountain biking continues to evolve and modernise, there’s something special about places that maintain their raw, untamed character. From Bellingham’s pristine trails to Golden’s rugged mountains, our road trip had traced a line through the sport’s past, present and future. The shared experience has become a core memory, at the heart of which is the strong and vibrant community that keeps the sport intact.
