(Photo Warning: Slightly Yucky Ouchies Within)

My brother Kevin just turned 37. We have been riding bikes together since he could pedal but I guesstimate that sometime this year we will mark 20 years of riding offroad together. From Bear to Burke, to Brothers and all the local mountains in between we share happiness riding the same loops one hundred times or getting thoroughly lost in the woods looking for things that may not even be there. 

I am always sure it is around the next bend. 

Crash Test Kevin, and for the record, when your mom calls you Crash Test that is your nickname, is one of the toughest assholes I have ever met. I am not even talking about the fact he regularly rides a single speed, but simply his ability to combine a lifetime of experience hitting the deck with an innate toughness to shrug off damage that would be ride ending for other people. To go home and heal. And to get back out on the horse again. Every time. 

I have been channeling him for years as my spirit animal for moments of self-inflicted pain. The answer to the question WWCTKD is always to pause, relax my breathing – or catch my breath, slow my heart rate, and wait to see if sharp pains become manageable throbbing. Things usually are not anywhere near as bad as they seem at first and if they are, there is no one to blame but yourself. Mountain Biking.

In honour of his birthday, and for a laugh, I thought I would share a couple of his greatest hits. And yes, you are supposed to laugh loudly and cringe at the same time – we sure do. 

First Time On Fromme

If I could go back in time, the one change I would make to my riding in the past would be to carry a camera on way more rides. And if I could have one photo, it would be the first time CTK rolled the iconic Pipeline rock rollercoaster on his very first ride on the Shore. Full face, full leg armour, a too-small Oryx full suspension bike, Hayes HFX-9 brakes, Kenda tires, and all the confidence. 

We were rolling deep so there was a pile of witnesses when it came time for Kev to drop-in. Some had ridden it, some had walked it, and all had an appreciation for how sketchy it could get on a greasy day with the rubber we were running at the time. 

Kevin busted out of the gate with his signature move – a heavy pedal stroke to get going – and then jumped hard on the binders as the first rock roll dropped away. With a skeetch-skitch-skeetch both of his locked-up tires started to slide off the side of the narrow rock track. I remember thinking “f***, my mom is going to kill me.” He was, of course, silent. 

Millimeters before exiting the track, halfway down the first of the three rollers, Kevin fully lets off his brakes and his bike rockets forward. The Kenda rubber on Fromme rock armour is like surfing on a giant pair of greased slugs. He lightly taps the levers. Slides. It is of no use. His rear wheel levitates as he floats into roller two with more momentum than I have, to this day, seen anyone hit this feature with. 

The basic Marzocchi Jr.T hard bottoms into the second transition and rebounds with a clang and suddenly Crash Test is airborne. Holy sh*t, he is going to ride it out‽ His wheels are level! He is centered on the bike! He is flying! And then he throws the bike away and starts to pike into a dive. 

To this day I can stand at the top of the rock armoured Pipeline rollercoaster and for the life of me, I cannot point to his exact path through the woods. All I remember are his feet, and his head, and his feet, and his head, and his feet as his discombobulated bouncing took him in a roughly straight line for what seemed like forever. I found him, lucky or good, contorted perfectly around a few large rocks, having managed to flail himself with nothing but dirt and vegetation. 

He stood up slowly. Walked to his bike. Mounted. And off we all went. 

Missing The Catch-Rock

Or in this case the catch-ladder. Crash Test and I were out on Fromme on a slip-and-slide Juneuary ride having a jolly spin down 7th Secret when we rode through a bog of British blokes and became separated. I pumped through the next nasty corner, over the rock roll, and then pulled up to wait near the 7th log. No Kevin within sight. No one within sight. F***.

I started to hike up the trail when one of the Brits rolled down, white as paper, and said “are you Andrew?” To which I quietly replied “F***” and kept walking up through the variety of descending visitors. Buddy said something about CTK being really banged up but I knew he was probably fine. 

I arrived at the junction of Bookwus and 7th to find Crash Test standing on the side of the trail looking a total mess. He had lost focus riding through the crew and missed a catch ramp, turning a small roll into a much, much, bigger one. As he had gone over the bike his handlebar had entered his full-face helmet and done some damage. He was bleeding quite decently from his left arm. Are you okay Kev? 

We had climbed up No Quarter so rolling down the road was not much of an option. Kevin’s crankarm had smoked him in the thigh as he went over the bars and he could not bend his left leg. Otherwise, he was in fairly good spirits and suggested that he could try coasting down Expresso keeping that leg straight. Which, was beyond hilarious to watch for me and garnered many a strange sideways look from riders we passed along the way. 

We arrived at Kevin’s car and it was time for a few more quick squirts with the water bottle and a better look at his flesh wound. Yep, that is going to need stitches. CTK agreed and decided he would go have a shower and then go to the Hospital to get a professional opinion. But first, how would I like to join him for a quick trip to the coffee shop. For hot chocolate, with all the whip cream. Legend. 

*Title is from the course of one of my favourite Hawksley Workman songs: Don’t Be Crushed.