Full Boar Challenge: Bark at the Moon Photos
“PEDAL! PEDAL! PEDAL! PEDAL!”
The man standing next to me is screaming a deep shade of red, crushing a half-drunk beer with equally passionate force and harassing his beleaguered victim with every yard that they progress past his mid-hill position.
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“PEDAL! PEDAL! PEDAL!.... awwwwww, BITCH!”
A disappointed cheer rises from the crowd, the rider hangs their head and turns back down the slope to reset for the next competitor, pausing only briefly to chat to the man who’d been tormenting them only seconds earlier.
That man is Trevor Marshall, owner of Full Boar Bike Store and organizer of the mostly-annual Full Boar Challenge, an event that’s so grassroots you can taste the soil. The two-day affair is dominated by an XC / DH race duo that’s become the norm at most weekend occasions, but I was here for something different and unique; I’d made the journey for the second year of the “Bark At The Moon Hill Climb”, a moto-inspired sprint up the steepest grade around, in complete darkness, save for a string of lights strung up the gradient like holiday decorations on a house.
Earlier in the day, Trevor had proudly shown me the custom hill-climb bike he’d prepared for the evening’s festivities. A true Frankenbike, it featured a host of traction-enhancing attributes, including a chopped-and-extended rear end, 24” / 26” wheels and a 42 tooth rear sprocket, courtesy of a donor front chainring and a session of crude welding. “Plus, this year it’s GOLD!”. It was clear he was immensely proud of his ugly duckling creation - fortunate, as dozens of hopefuls would all challenge the hill on the same bespoke machine; a level playing field, if you’ll excuse the pun.
Fast-forward to the present time, and proceedings are getting more rowdy and beer-soaken with every summit attempt, but never at the risk of come-one-come-all family vibe; it doesn’t matter if you’re a local, an out-of-towner or the kid of a proud parent watching from the sidelines - you’ll get an equal amount of support for as long as you turn those cranks.
Few manage to plow through the sugar bowl dirt to reach the first corner; the few that do seldom pass the strategic boulders strewn haphazardly through out the course. Maybe one in twenty make it to the last stretch, threading through logs amid a crescendo of onlookers’ hopes at seeing the hill beaten.
Less than half a dozen riders taste the sweet air at the very top of the course, and while I’m ashamed to admit I miss the eventual victor amidst the friendly jeering and laughter, it’s clear there are no losers on this cool night in the BC backcountry.
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