“I was hooked right away.”īetty poses at the bottom of Empress, a treacherously steep, extremely technical double-black diamond on lower Mount Seymour. Both trails have retained their black-diamond rating, and even on the plush full-suspension bikes of today, most would find Executioner terrifying.

Her second ride was on the aptly named Executioner, another steep, rooty, technical fall-line descent. In 1994, at the age of 45, she bought her first mountain bike, and a good friend she refers to only as “Old Rob” took her down 7th Secret, a trail on Mount Fromme. She is much, much more confident on these trails than I will ever be, and I’m half her age-and a former professional mountain biker, though I feel embarrassed to admit it at the moment.Īt 73 years old, Betty has called these trails home for almost 30 years. Their bikes float down a river of contorted roots, greasy rocks and slippery wooden bridges as if it’s a mild day in June, with Betty leading through the vilest conditions. If Betty Birrell or her son Hayden Robbins are fazed by the weather, they don’t show it. A crack slices through the rain as a small tree snaps and falls into a nearby stand of Douglas fir. Wind whips between the column-like trunks, pushing waves through the sea of emerald sword fern. The rain is coming down so hard you can’t see more than a few hundred feet, almost obscuring the cedar trees swaying in the surrounding murk.

It’s a typical fall day in the forests above North Vancouver, British Columbia. After nearly 30 years on the hallowed trails of southern British Columbia, Betty Birrell still thinks life is one big playground-and that you’re never too old to send.

Cat bradley trail runner magazine