From Doubts to Finish Line
Voice of Ewa Bailey, Story by Evan Wishloff
Photos: Sara Kempner, Jens Klett, Deniz Merdano
I first saw a photo of BC Bike Race back in 2007 in a magazine. The rider in the picture looked pro – covered in mud, dressed in lycra, and super serious.
That looks incredible, but it’s probably not for me. I’m not that kind of cyclist, that guy looks super serious!
Even though I didn’t think I was that kind of cyclist, mountain biking stayed on my radar. In my twenties, I had a cheaper hardtail bike. You know the kind – nothing wrong with it, but something that could really hold you back once you started riding real west-coast singletrack.
I’d take it on trails that, at the time, I thought were wild, but I don’t think I could really call what I was doing mountain biking.
Life was busy, and while I stayed curious about the sport, I didn’t have the time or the means to dive in.
In 2022, a few of my friends had been getting more and more into the sport, and they were bugging me to join them.
I finally gave in, scraping together enough to buy the cheapest name-brand dual-suspension bike I could find, and I fell in love.
Less than a year later, after countless rides, I’d outgrown that bike and had upgraded to something better.
Around that time, I realized I wanted to do BC Bike Race…
Life can be unpredictable. I have the chance to enter BCBR now, but that chance might go away if I don’t seize it.
I didn’t want to regret not going for something, even if it felt like a scary stretch far outside my abilities, so when registration opened for the 2024 edition of BCBR, I took the plunge.
It felt big – scary, even – but I wanted to challenge myself.
I knew I had the endurance to complete it, but the technical side? Let’s just say I had doubts…
Six weeks before the start line, I went for a ride with a few friends in North Vancouver. On a roll-down – something I was just starting to master – I went over the bars, crashing hard and scuffing up my helmet in the process.
All the confidence I’d built up in training for the race instantly vanished.
Suddenly, I was more than just nervous – I was terrified!
When I arrived on Vancouver Island before the race, the fear was almost overwhelming.
What if I can’t do this?
The morning of the prologue, I had a fleeting thought: I’ve done all the training. I did all the work to get here. That could be enough… I could just skip the race, hop on a ferry, and go home.
It sounds ridiculous now, but the nerves were real!
The prologue was tough – far more technical than I expected.
I got passed by so many riders, and spent most of the short course nervously shoulder-checking, not wanting to get in the way of anybody faster.
I finished, but couldn’t shake the feeling of overwhelm.
If this is how technical every stage is, I don’t know how I’m going to finish…
Stage 2 went better. To my relief, there were technical sections, but not the entirety of the course. It helped that I was in the final start wave, riding with people more my speed. I spent far less time worrying about holding up riders behind me.
During Stage 3, I started to find a rhythm. I was in a group that matched my pace, and although I’d still apologize if I made a mistake holding up the riders behind me, I realized that most people were just excited to be there. They weren’t focused on being fast – they were just stoked to share the experience.
By Stage 4, something clicked. I was so tired of getting off the bike to walk the tricky sections that I just started riding them.
Maybe it was fatigue, maybe it was stubbornness, or maybe it was just the desire to stop trying to walk in cycling shoes, but I pushed myself to ride through sections I would have avoided before.
To my surprise, I was riding better than ever.
Stage 5 threw a curveball, and I came down with heatstroke. Medical pulled me from the stage.
I was frustrated – not at the race, but at myself for not managing my hydration better. I wasn’t ready to quit, so that night, I forced myself to eat dinner, even though I had no appetite.
I prepared for Stage 6 as if there was no question that I’d be starting.
Even though I wouldn’t be an official finisher, I still wanted to keep going.
And that’s exactly what I did.
The morning of the final stage is when my emotions finally bubbled over. I knew I was going to cry at some point, I just didn’t think it would happen at the start line.
The weight of having tackled a challenge this big head-on finally hit. I felt proud I’d gotten this far, yet still a bit nervous about the final day.
I couldn’t celebrate yet – there was still one stage left!
It was fun, but it felt like it went on forever… hours into the day, every time the singletrack exited onto a fireroad, I figured the finish line would be just around the corner.
Then the course would dip back into another section of singletrack.
Normally I’d be thrilled to ride more fun trails, but i was ready to see that finish arch…
Finally, it was there.
I crossed the line, and the tears came again.
The whole experience was incredible, even with the setbacks and the battles with my doubts.
I rode trails I never thought I could. I surprised myself. I met great riding friends in a supportive community, and I felt like I belonged, even as someone who I still think may have had the worst technical skills of the entire race.
Crossing that finish line renewed my belief in myself.
If you’re not thinking about doing BC Bike Race, you should be.
And if you’re thinking about it, but on the fence, you should just do it.
If you’re worried about the skill part, don’t be. I was the least technically prepared person there and I could do it.
And as far as fitness goes, as long as you’re prepared to do some training before you show up, it’s so doable.
You can finish BC Bike Race, and it’ll be one of the best things you’ll ever do!