Canada. Home of some of the most extreme, hardcore mountain biking in the world. Some of it - legend has it - even tougher than Ashridge. We were ready though. Our pre-holiday training had even taken us as far as the wilds of Surrey to hone our skills. Nothing could stop us.
First stop Whistler, home for the forthcoming winter Olympics and - when the snow's gone - the ultimate mountain bike playground. Two chairlifts serve the main bikepark area but there are trails of all types on both sides of the valley, some served by gravel roads for shuttling in a pick-up, others by helidrop only.
We started with a gentle pedal around the golf course on the Valley Trail, a tarmac path connecting the various parts of the Whistler Resort, heading over to the none lift-accessed side. They've sure got some freaky names for their trails round here: Danimal, Whip Me Strip Me, Anal Intruder, Shit Happens and suchlike. I suppose we've got Thunderdell and That One Where The Grumpy Bloke Lives but clearly we need to get a bit more inventive.
We were mean to start on gentle Blue-graded trails but I got lost and we ended up on some Blacks first thing. Ho hum. Trails are different here. Apart from silly names they all have various wooden stunts - log bridges, see-saws and the like - to keep you entertained. Claire was lapping it up and nailing the lot.
So we thought, sod this, let's go where there's chairlifts and headed back to the resort.
Like ski runs Whistler's bike trails are graded Green (easy/boring), Blue (challenging and fun), Black Diamond (getting tougher), Double Black Diamond (unhinged) and Pro Only. They ain't kidding on that last one either, this involving crazy high wooden drops, vertical rock rides and anything in between. Any one run down can take in one trail or inter-link half a dozen or so, according to whether you want fast with jumps, slow and steep roots, burly rocks or skinny woodwork. Or a mix of all three.
Come Monday we'd hooked up with some English pals out here riding the park and I headed off to play with the boys while Claire psyched herself up for a women-only training session they run here twice a week.
I proved myself to the sceptical downhill boys by riding my XC bike off a big rock they were all considering riding around, a move spoiled only by the fact I was completely out of control by the time I landed and crashed straight into a tree. Oh well.
Claire's training session was a great success though, the $17 asking price including two hours' tuition, a beer and entry to a raffle where she won herself a new Camelbak. Result!
Whistler hammers the bikes though, there being a reason most of the riders here are on full-on downhill machines. Claire wasn't held back though, fired up with confidence of her new bike and full-face helmet. And after four days of this nonsense - not to mention a full set of brake pads (me), a brake hose and set of fork seals (Claire) - we headed down to nearby Squamish where I popped into the local bike shop and bought a map of the trails. And a new set of forks. Well, they were a bargain.
Squamish is best attacked having had a lift up the hill in a pick-up truck along the fire road that goes all the way to the top. Fire road schmire road, we're riding it. After being overtaken by the same dude in the f-off pick-up twice he pulled over and said, "look, do you want a lift or what?" Go on then.
From the top various trails head back down, varying from the sublime to the ridiculous. I aimed for somewhere in between, the top proving more of the latter but the bottom section utterly sublime, a flowing, loamy trail snaking between giant mossy tree stumps in forest way more dense and ancient than anything back home. Truly, if we'd come round the corner and bumped into a triceratops I wouldn't have been that surprised.
We carried on along trails recommended by the guys in the shop, with more rocks, roots, steeps and wooden stunts and got back to the car hot, exhausted but, as they say in these parts, stoked. On my last trip to Canada Squamish had been my favourite place to ride and it seems nothing had changed.
But we had bigger plans. Camping. Bears. Floatplanes into the Chilcotin Mountains. Barely a smudge of a distance on a map Canadian distances - and driving - hit home after two hours over a mountain pass on a gravel road that was, apparently, a highway. At the end there was a bear waiting for us.
Having avoided being eaten we made it to our campsite at the Tyax lake resort, floatplane gently bobbing on the water beside the campsite. Nice.
The next morning we joined guide Adrian and fellow rider Chris on the jetty, loaded the bikes and, to the strains of country music on the headphones, enjoyed the short flight up to Spruce Lake.
Originally an old Indian trail, the path along Gun Creek was then used by the miners last century but now just gets herberts on mountain bikes, having been featured in the bike movie The Collective. This is a seriously remote trail too. At least by our standards. To the Canadians it's about as extreme as, well, riding along the canal towpath. The scenery is a bit better though, alternating between lush meadows, dusty root strewn lake shore and rocky pathway alongside foaming rapids.
All went well, guide Adrian a firm believer in regular stops for cake and chat. We liked Adrian. Or Claire did until he introduced a section of trail saying "this bit's fun, kinda fast, kinda loose … oh, but I did literally nearly run into a grizzly down here last week so be careful. See ya at the bottom!" No bears, thankfully, but Claire found previously unknown speed.
From Tyax we headed back down south, over the mountain pass again, past Squamish and pretty much to Vancouver, where we boarded a ferry to the Sunshine Coast. Another friendly bike shop provided maps and we prepared for another day of hard riding with a night of stuffing our faces.
After a slight navigational SNAFU saw us pedalling up 1 in 4 suburban roads in full body armour and full face helmets (about as much fun as it sounds) we finally made it out onto the hills and pedalling up a long fire road climb. This is very much the Canadian style, these long, relatively easily graded roads taking you up to more fun and interesting ways of getting down.
The Sunshine Coast Trails were, again, flowing and lovely but I decided if I was going to cart around all that armour I may as well do something vaguely risky. 2001 and Pacheko Street duly delivered with some chuffing huge drops, the Orange well and truly racking up some proper air miles.
Heading back along a trail called Highway 102 we found one of those fabulous paths that basically contours along, taking in occasional wooden bridges and skinnies to liven things up. Cracking.
Another day of driving took us up the Sunshine Coast and then, via two more ferries, to Vancouver Island. On a recommendation from Tyax guide Adrian we rocked up in the old mining town of Cumberland, looking for the world like the set for a Wild West film and - no doubt - a town that had seen some living in its day. That day was long passed but the riders and hippies that now live there have made it their own and the Waverley Hotel in the centre seems to be the Cumberland equivalent of the Riser, full of riders and alcoholics (sometimes one and the same thing) propping up the bar and shooting the shit.
As promised the riding was great, tight, twisty and fully of well crafted stunts. They sure like their skinnies and log rides here, one of them claiming Claire with fortunately the only damage coming to pride and temper. Our first real crash of the holiday, not for want of trying.
Rooty and technical, the riding here was demanding for mind and body and after a morning hacking around we were glad to return to Cumberland for a refuel, the temptations of the Waverley successfully avoided. For now. I'd been eyeing the map and a trail called Grub, which looked fun but was a 5-mile hack up the hill gaining 500m-odd of altitude. I convinced Claire it was a good idea and - it must have been the heat - she agreed.
The climb was pretty epic, the first two thirds a steady plod and the final haul very much a push. But the trail was well worth it - a classic Canadian XC descent, as steep and technical as the stuff in Whistler but not a downhill race track by any means. The natural terrain was challenging enough but, being a bit mental, the locals couldn't help spicing things up with the odd 5ft high wooden construction ending suddenly and demanding what we experienced mountain bikers refer to as a 'controlled fall' back to earth. One hopefully ending with both wheels pointing in the right direction and bike and rider still on speaking terms with each other.
A pretty epic trail and a great way to end the riding part of our trip.
Now there's the ever painful 'Canada comedown' to endure. This may or may not result in wooden structures appearing on some of the local trails - you have been warned…