WITHIN FIVE MINUTES of rolling into Helena, Montana, I come face-to-face with one of the “local personalities”. I’d met up with my Missoula-based riding mates Dan Poole and Tyler Hibbard at Dan’s mom’s house. Dan’s mom wasn’t there. Instead, local artist and family friend Ken DeRosa meets us at the door. A flannel shirt hangs off his slight frame and he speaks in excited bursts through a matted gray beard.
DeRosa erupts into a story of how his 7,000-mile road trip around the southwest was cut short by a chemical spill on his leg. He holds out his hands, his fingers making a circle the size of a tennis ball. “Got a little on my britches, and the next day I had a hole in my leg this big,” he says.
He spends the better part of fifteen minutes talking about the curative powers of Israeli Frankincense. “The same stuff as from Jesus’ time,” he says. “I put no more than a couple drops on my leg, and the next day, it was half-way healed.”
In some towns, you have to hit the local watering hole to meet the eccentrics. In Helena, they might show up in your house.
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I’d arrived in Helena after dark, and the dim reddish glow of city lights on the slopes hinted at the closeness of the mountains. At dawn, however, I see forested peaks cupping the 1800’s mining town-turned-state-capitol. The gold in those mountains drove a massive gold rush, making Helena one of the richest towns in the US. One hundred years later, long after the gold has played out, it’s mountain bikers who are seeking riches in the form of amazing trails.
Heavy rain clouds creep down the slopes of the mountains and out of the valleys (called gulches here) like tendrils of wet fog. Somehow, that doesn’t hinder our excitement as we plan our first ride. Trail names like Entertainment and Pay Dirt, call into question Dan’s description of Helena riding as “abundantly challenging.” Dan clarifies that the challenge is what makes a trail like Stairway to Heaven fun. There are almost unlimited options and, “each will challenge you in a different way.”
Helena’s trail system is a marvel of trail-building. Tyler and Dan grew up riding these trails, and neither hesitates for a moment before heading out to ride in a downpour. A few feet beyond the trailhead I see why. Sheets of rain slough off the gravelly trail like water off an oiled rain slicker. Most trails would become rutted mud-holes in these conditions, but I can’t even see Tyler’s tracks just a few feet ahead.
While the rain doesn’t seem to damage the trails, the constant spray of grit and freezing water stiffens my knees, and produces a chill that I can’t shake. Even the granny-gear climb up the Ridge Trail leaves me worrying that my fingers won’t be able to squeeze my brakes when the trail points down. Rain veils the surrounding ridges, making them seem ghostly and distant. Even darker clouds look poised to settle into the valleys.
At the top of the climb, the trail begins a long, winding descent darting in and out of the trees with just enough slope that pedaling feels more like pulling the throttle on a dirt bike than actual effort. The air speed sucks the last remaining heat out of my body, but the joy of railing beautifully-sculpted corners makes me crank faster, hoping that I will be able to keep all of my fingers and toes.
We link up with the Diretissima Trail, a log-flume of slick corners and even slicker limestone outcroppings. All I can do, besides keep my bike from sliding off the trail into ponderosa pines, is try not to get mud in my teeth as I smile.
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In our home away from home, we crowd around the fireplace warming up and letting our pulses slow down. As our clothes dry and our core temperatures rise out of Dracula range, we plan our next trail assault. Tyler and Dan engage in a lively debate, and It quickly becomes apparent that too many choices can be a bad thing. We can’t hit all of Helena’s trails in two days, and every trail seems like a favorite.
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We drive up a winding mountain road leaving from Helena’s historic downtown. Within minutes, the mountains close in around us, and the modern houses carved into the forest are the only signs of civilization. Dan pulls to a stop in front of a row of houses at the end of some family’s driveway.
“Which trail is this?” Tyler asks. He’s looking up toward the edge of the forest just beyond the back yard. There’s a tiny sign near the trees.
Dan rattles off a few trail names and connectors, and a look of comprehension crosses Tyler’s face.
“I forgot how many good trails are up here,” Tyler says, getting out of the truck.
As we grind our way up the Rodney Ridge Trail, I wonder how any mountain biker growing up here could forget about some of “the best trails in town”. The trail ends at Top of the World, an open ridge-line with a view of the valley below. Low-hanging clouds cling to the sides of the mountains, but the rain has eased up a bit. From up here, I see several ribbons of trails criss-crossing the nearby slopes. And this is just one gulch. The scope of Helena’s trail system begins to come clear and sheds light on how tricky it might be to keep the trails straight.
We drop off Top of the World on a trail called Rent Money. Shouts of joy echo through the woods as we lean into each perfectly banked corner and then sprint to the next, only to repeat, repeat, repeat all the way to the bottom.
From there, I get lost in all of the different types of terrain we ride, from tight, windy single track to wide-open, fast sections to technical rock gardens. Helena’s downtown is back in sight when Tyler pinch-flats on Little Moab’s exposed limestone.
“Did you guys bring your wallets?” he asks, snaking a new tube into the tire.
Over the last decade, Helena has benefited from a craft beer explosion, and this trail comes out at one of the finest tap houses: Blackfoot River Brewing Company.
Blackfoot is packed when we arrive. Kids play boardgames while their parents enjoy a pint. Like many mountain towns, North Face and Patagonia appear to be the standard uniform. Even in Montana’s hub of power, everyone here seems approachable.
We toast to an epic day of riding.
The beer barely hits our lips before the next round of trail options are thrown around. For all the day’s riding, we haven’t seen half of the trails in the South Hills. In fact, there are so many more trails that we’re not even considering the other regions around the city.
I look at all of the smiling faces around the pub. There are infinite possibilities of things they’re happy about, but one of those things has to be that they live in a rich landscape, where outdoor adventure is less than five-minutes from anywhere.
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In my lowest gear, I spin my legs just fast enough to keep me upright. The switchbacks of the Eagle Scout Trail hug the side of the mountain both above and below me. While there are far more switchbacks above than below, they are perfectly sloped to be ridable. Thousands of hours of labor have gone into Helena’s trails, and I marvel at how much volunteer work came from a population of less than thirty thousand.
Dan leads me on a day of comfortably slow climbs and rowdy, flowing descents. We ride the 2006 Trail to a point that overlooks the whole city from its old, picturesque downtown to Canyon Ferry Lake, and beyond where the buildings fade into open grasslands.
While Helena may have been created by the boom-and-bust cycles of mineral extraction, these trails have grown organically over decades. They are the two-thousand-year-old frankincense healing these hills after the years of gold mining. Helena’s trails are so good because they’ve been slowly crafted, not to gain some short-term profit, but to build a renewable resource—one that outdoor enthusiasts can reap rewards from forever. That is the real treasure in these hills.
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Before you go:
Check out the extensive network of trails here.
Where to eat and drink:
Blackfoot River Brewing Co. is within easy riding distance of most of the South Hills area trailheads, and offers an excellent assortment of beers.
Lewis and Clark Brewing Co. features many live music events in its historical tap room. Their beers are available in cans, perfect for trailhead tailgating.
If you’re looking for something a little finer to replenish your calories, Mediterranean Grill offers shockingly good cuisine from Italian to Turkish. The inside is decorated like an outdoor cafe complete with street lights and brick alleyways for that Mediterranean village feel.
If you’re looking for something a little more immediate, Bridge Pizza sells giant slices of pie with enough tasty calories to refuel you for another epic stint in the mountains.
Getting it fixed:
Great Divide Cyclery is always ready to fix your steed, as well as dispense trail wisdom.
Singletrack Nomad 